Hurricane Drunk
by Scarlet Fever
Summary: Rated MA for graphic sexual content, violence, mature subject matter and language. Named after the song Hurricane Drunk by Florence The Machine, which just screams Chris to me. Chris is having a hard time coping with all the loss in his life, especially Piers, and Umbrella just keeps pulling him in. Chris/Piers, with a smattering of Wesker/Chris mentioning for extra angst. WIP
1. Chapter 1

**Hurricane Drunk**

**Chapter One**

_"No walls can keep me protected_

_No sleep, nothing in between me and the rain..."_

It's so dark that I can't see anything, except for blurry flashes of color. I see the outline of an arm here and there, the highlight of my hand in front of my face as some mystery source of light briefly catches it. It's humid as hell and I'm sweating so profusely that it's dripping down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I can taste it in my mouth, just like I can taste my heartbeat. My desire. I feel hands on my body, sliding down my sweat-soaked chest. Familiar hands. Loving and loved hands. I can feel the hands joined by a wet, balmy mouth that's as humid as the rest of the room. I'm panting and I think I'm moaning, but my head is spinning with desire and lust and affection and love, so it's hard for me to tell up from down anymore. I reach down and run my fingers through short, sweaty hair that I know is brown, though I can't see anything in the darkness. I feel his mouth smile against my stomach as it slips lower and lower. God, that perfect fucking mouth, wrapping around my painfully hard cock.

"Piers," I whisper as I feel the muscles of his throat working me. Fuck, I wish I could see him right now. I wish I could look down and see him looking up at me with those golden hazel eyes of his while my dick ploughs into his mouth. His hands are so strong on my thighs. This feels so fucking good, but I still pull him up because I want to kiss those lips. I want to devour them and feel his breath and swallow the air that's been inside his body. I want to feel his heart slamming against my chest, beating with the same rapid rate as my own.

He grins against my mouth as my hands find his erection in the dark. We're both sweating so much that our hands slide all over each other's bodies. Not that either of us is complaining. Piers and I are the only two people in the world right now. There's now BOWs. There's no BSAA. There's no rest of the world. There's only us.

"Chris," he whispers against my mouth, breath hitched as I jerk him off. "Chris."

I groan and devour his mouth. It's the first thing I'd ever noticed about Piers. It's so beautiful and fuckable and perfect. His hands are all over my shoulders and neck and chest as we kiss, although kiss is a really poor word for the way we've fused our mouths together like our lives depend on it. We've done this together before, so our bodies move in perfect sync. As we make love, we're the only two people in the world.

"Are you so certain about that?" A voice gently whispers in my ear from behind, cooling the sweat on my neck. The voice is equally as chilly, filled with cold malice that makes my blood run cold, yet sets fire to it at the same time, even after all that's passed between us. "A second-rate substitute won't make me disappear, Chris."

I try to turn away from the serpentine sound of Albert's voice, but the way he says my name still causes me to gasp. The memory of him is so strong that the ghostly memory of him becomes real. I can feel his hands on me, moving across my slick body along with Piers's with the same level of familiarity. Albert's hands have marked this territory before. He knows me inside and out, knows my weaknesses. Knows how much I still yearn for his touch, deep down. Both of their mouths are moving along my chest, neck, shoulders and face, both of them whispering my name. I'm drowning in my desire for Piers, and in the lust for Albert that won't fucking die.

"Chris," they whisper together, Piers's earnest, loving voice and Albert's cool, detached voice. I get closer and closer to orgasm, even as the feeling of drowning intensifies. The sweat on my body instantly becomes like ice as we're sliding through cold, black water. I can feel my grip on Piers weakening, can feel him sliding away from me. I grip him tighter against my chest, wincing as Albert's hands touch him, too. I jerk my shoulder to try and protect Piers from Albert's caress, as if his mere touch will poison any part of Piers's flesh it comes in contact with. I want to keep him safe from my ghosts. I want to keep him...

The water that's rushing around us now pulls Piers away from me. I reach for him, but only come up with a fistful of cold water. Piers is calling my name, and I can see a flash of fear in his face in the limited light. I can see his hand reaching out for me as Albert and I descend through the cold water. My lungs burn, and water fills my mouth as I scream Piers's name. The salty brine fills my lungs, and the pressure of the descent begins to crush my body, Albert's arms still around me, pulling me down. I can feel him penetrate me as we drown, the familiar burn of it moving up my spine. I open my mouth in a moan that's not from pain. The water begins to boil as we drown together, locked in an embrace we're destined to act out forever. As my body reaches orgasm because of Albert's caresses, we're consumed by the water that has become molten magma, Piers and Albert both calling my name as we burn alive...

* * *

Chris gasped and jerked awake, his eyes burning from the sweat and unshed tears. The sheets tangled him up like a mummy, so he couldn't move. The whole bed felt wet, like he was still drowning. When he finally got himself disentangled enough from the sheets to sit up, Chris noticed that there was semen splattered all over his belly. He sucked in his breath and willed away the crest of tears that seemed to be always at the surface. Ever since Piers died. The sweat on his skin felt cold and clammy as memory and guilt washed over him. Another memory mixed in with a nightmare. Ever since Chris had come back to the world after his PTSD amnesia nearly six months earlier, he'd get flashes of memory, of things that'd happened, but that he'd forgotten. Like Piers.

"Fuck," he whispered, balling the sweat-soaked sheets in his fists as he tried to gain control of himself. Tried to not fall apart at the seams. He felt thin, like an old, worn sheet spread too tightly across a bed frame. One wrong move and the whole thing would rip apart. Life had worn him down to the point of near transparency.

Chris sighed and looked up at the ceiling, pulling himself together. People needed him, and he couldn't just fucking fall apart. They looked up to him. They counted on him. He flopped back down against the still sweaty pillows, and groaned when he saw the red numbers of the alarm clock out of the corner of his eye. It had only been 40 fucking minutes since he'd fallen asleep. Again. He tried to close his eyes and think of the impeding heaviness of sleep. Chris tried to let his body relax, but every time he began to slip under the surface of consciousness, he could hear the ghostly whisper of his name ruffling the hair at the back of his neck. He could hear the mocking laughter in Wesker's voice. He could feel Piers's hands slipping out of his own.

He gave up sleep as a lost cause and shuffled off to the tiny kitchenette in the equally tiny apartment that he was using while on this current BSAA mission. The walls had water damage, there were cockroaches, and it smelled awful, but it was still better than a lot of the living conditions they were surrounded by in Edonia.

He lowered himself into a rickety vinyl chair and rested his elbows on the table, which wobbled precariously. He hated being here. He _hated_ it. This is where he lost more men. This is where his life had begun to fall apart. This is where Piers...

Chris punched the table, wishing he could punch himself in the face. The dreams that plagued him, he was beginning to realize that they weren't all figments of his imagination. Actually, none of it was. It was more the context that was imagined. He was beginning to realize that his dreams about Piers had actually happened. He and Piers had been together, and he'd forgotten it all until now. Everything in his mind was still a little foggy about Edonia and China, and the period leading up to it, but pieces were starting to come together. Just too fucking late to make any difference.

Chris felt the tears that he was always trying to hold at bay stinging his eyes. Why didn't Piers say anything after finding Chris in that shithole bar and bringing him back?! Why did he act as if nothing had happened between them?! Maybe... maybe because Chris had just ditched him and ran away from the military hospital. Maybe because Chris hadn't acknowledged it at all. Maybe he'd felt like Chris hadn't cared, and it wasn't worth remembering...

"Fuck." He punched the table again and considered trying to make some coffee, but the water here tasted like shit and he'd run out of bottled. Besides, the thought of food going into him made his whole body churn. He noticed an English newspaper on the table and slowly brought it towards himself. Jill must have left it for him. Briefly when he touched the newsprint, he felt sweaty flesh stretched over lean, hard muscle under his fingertips.

Chris shook his head and tried to forget the ghosts that now seemed to constantly plague him. He tried to focus instead of the newspaper... anything to distract him from the thought of Piers. From the thought of Albert Wesker. It had been a while since he'd had a dream about the man who'd so thoroughly shaped and destroyed his heart, but he figured that he'd never truly _stopped_ thinking about Wesker. Chris had just gotten good about putting those thoughts and regrets and lingering feelings on the backburner. Especially when Piers had come into the picture.

He shook his head and pushed the thoughts out of his head by reading the newspaper from front to back. He read the shittiest fluff pieces about celebrity couples he'd never heard of having affairs with other celebrities he didn't care about. He did the Sudoku, the crossword, the jumble, the cryptoquip, the word search, read every help wanted, personal and for sale ad. But that horrible gnawing feeling still stuck with him through all the petty distractions. The gnawing guilt of not being able to remember what he and Piers had shared, not until it was too late.

The only thing that briefly distracted him was an article about a lab stateside that was doing research into spinal cord nerve regeneration. They were hoping to have a cure for para-and quadriplegia. That sort of news would make a lot of military people, people like Chris, very happy. Paralysis and amputation were a nightmarish fact of a soldier's life that they had to accept, but always feared. What particularly caught his eye about the article was talking about the possible growth of new limbs through stem cell research.

"We want to assure that these tests are ethical, and that there is no possible method of contagion," a Dr. Alexander Leary was quoted as saying after being grilled by reporters about the regenerative properties of the research. "There is no possible way that this research could be used as a biological weapons agent. We are not trying to create the newest Edonia, China or Tall Oaks, here. We are not the labs below Raccoon City. We just want to try and find a cure for degenerative nerve disorders, for loss of function. The research is still very preliminary, and the growth of human limbs may be something we look at in the future, but it would be decades away. Right now, we just want to help people walk again."

Chris didn't know if he believed in 'ethical lab research' anymore. He'd seen too many horrors to believe in the good of anything, really. Except for Piers. And he was gone... just like so many other good things in his life.

"Hey, there."

Chris jerked and looked up, surprised not only by the voice, but that he'd actually been so engrossed in the article. Or maybe it was that he was so engrossed in thinking about Piers, and how the limb regrowth this Dr. Leary spoke about could have helped him... if he'd lived.

"Didn't sleep?" Jill asked, lowering herself into one of the other battered chairs. She was in her full gear, ready for another day in trying to clean up the Edonia mess, be it the BOWs or the civil war.

Chris knew he couldn't lie to Jill, since they knew each other too well for that. He just shrugged and laid the paper down, rubbing his eyes. He felt exhausted down to his core, but the idea of sleep terrified him.

"I think we should be keeping an eye on that research." Jill tapped the article he'd just been reading, her brow knitted together in tense concern. She had more wrinkles now than even a year ago. "They say it's ethical, but..." She sighed. "Chris, maybe you should ask for some stress leave. What did Dr. Weston say?"

Chris just shrugged again. "Jill, I'm fine."

"You didn't go see her, did you?" Jill referred to one of the psychiatrists on the BSAA payroll.

"I did," Chris assured. After what happened in China, it had been mandatory. "And I poured my little heart out, so you can get that look off your face."

"What look?" Jill asked innocently, popping her eyebrow.

"Bitch, please."

"Okay, okay. I can't lie to you, honey. But... are you sure you were ready to come back? Especially to _this_ mission?"

_You're never going to be ready_, a familiar, serpentine voice whispered in the back of Chris's mind. He ignored it, as he'd done for years. Every once in a while, Wesker's ghostly voice would act as Chris's internal voice of self-doubt. It slithered down his spine in a way that made him shudder, but would never quite be unwelcome. He didn't want to tell her that Dr. Weston had worried about him going back to active duty. That she had brought up mentions that he may be suffering not only from post traumatic stress disorder, but that he had symptoms of an anxiety disorder, and he may have always had these issues, and had lost his ability to 'deal' with the worry, the gnawing guilt, the swells of panic over things he couldn't control.

"Chris..." Jill began.

"I can do this, Jill. I have to."

Jill bit her lip, reaching across the table and covering Chris's hand with her own. "He would have understood, Chris." Chris and Piers had been very discreet, but she knew Chris so well that it had been silly of him to try and hide the affair with his subordinate soldier.

"Maybe I wouldn't understand," Chris snapped, rubbing his eyes again. "I can't abandon this mission again, Jill. I fucked off and fucking _drank_ for six months while I should have been here. I didn't tell Claire or you where I was. And Piers... Maybe things would be going better if I hadn't—"

"Chris, you can't..."

"I forgot him, Jill!" Chris whispered, but it cut through the dingy kitchen like a gunshot. "I didn't remember being in love with him until after he was gone. He must have thought..."

"He loved you," Jill murmured, feeling helpless. Chris had been her constant, her gentle rock for so long that it hurt her to see him falling apart like this. "You don't make that kind of sacrifice unless you love someone."

"Then, why didn't he say anything...?"

Jill opened her mouth to respond, but really didn't have an answer. "Did anyone tell you that we found a new lab location, about 20 miles outside of the city?"

Chris shook his head, trying to forget that look in Piers's eyes as Chris's escape pod raced away into the black waters. Away from _him_...

"We're going to go check it out, but you should stay behind."

"Jill..."

"Chris, you're not ready for this. God knows what we'll find."

Chris frowned, pulling his hand away from his dearest friend's. He'd almost lost her too, just like so many others. His face became closed and steely. "I'm fine, Jill. What kind of lab?"

She didn't reply for a long time, and just stared at him in a stony silence that he matched perfectly. She blew her breath up into some vagrant strands of light brown hair that had come out of her modest ponytail. After what had happened to her at Wesker's hands in Africa, she'd shaved her head bald, wanting to remove the bleached blonde locks that reminded her of him every time she looked in the mirror. Her hair grew so slowly that it was only now that she had enough to pull back properly.

"Fine. Fuck it." She threw up her hands. "It's old-school, Chris. Like... Spencer era Umbrella old-school. That Jake kid's from Edonia, right?"

"Yes..." Chris said, face not giving anything away. Jake hadn't come to collect on Chris's promise to talk about Wesker, and he was glad of it. Seeing that mouthy brat's face would just bring up too many ugly memories right now. _What do you mean, bring them up? They're already front and center, my pet_. Wesker's voice slithered in the back of Chris's mind.

"So, that means that Wesker was here about 20 years ago. This may be one of Umbrella's original labs, back when they were just starting to develop the T-Virus and the T-Veronica. It would have been before S.T.A.R.S. were ever conceived."

"You think anything would still even be living down there after all that time?" Chris asked dubiously. "Besides, if Wesker had been doing any research for Umbrella there, he would have either destroyed all the evidence, or polluted their data out of some egotistical need of his own."

"Maybe..." Jill trailed off. "I'm hoping that the place has long been sterilized, but I also wonder if someone else took it over. I mean, we know that several of Umbrella's old labs were sold off on the black market just before the biggest part of their collapse. TriCell's at the top of that list, especially because Wesker already had his tentacles in _their_ business practices, too. There's also the Simmons family. Because we're only just finding out about him, there could be hundreds of facilities that we don't even know about yet."

"If it were The Family, wouldn't that Ada Wong clone have destroyed it?" Chris asked bitterly. "I mean, wasn't Carla his right-hand woman until he changed her genes so she'd look more like Ada Wong? God, I can't believe that sentence actually came out of my mouth. I hate our life."

Jill gave him a sympathetic smile that felt more like a grimace so stiff it may as well have been on a corpse. "These new J'avo may just be using the place as a new base. It would more than likely have what equipment they needed, even if it was two decades out of date."

"Let's go check it out." Chris rose to his feet, starting to gather his gear.

Jill wanted to protest. Hell, she wanted to pull rank and stop Chris from going out the door since she was his equal in every regard, but she didn't. She knew that he needed focus right now, or else he'd just sit in this shitty little apartment and think about Piers, and about everyone else he'd lost in his life, and blame himself somehow for failing them. Maybe she didn't stop him because this way she could keep an eye on him, too. Maybe this way he wouldn't run away again.

"Barry and Rebecca are going to come on this one, too," Jill said as they walked out into the sunlight. It was actually a pretty nice day out, with a cool spring breeze bringing the smell of earth over top of the stink of smoke and mortar and gasoline and despair.

"A big reunion, huh?" Chris asked without humor.

When Rebecca Chambers saw them coming towards the humvee, she bounced on the balls of her feet and waved. She'd been doing mostly lab work since joining the BSAA after Jill and Chris had created it, but she'd come to Europe as a field medic. She hadn't gotten much of a chance to see Chris in the years since Raccoon City, and briefly paused mid-wave when she saw how much older he looked. His eyes seemed so much darker, like the empty windows of an old haunted house.

"Long time no see!" Barry greeted from behind the wheel of the vehicle, leaning across the seat. He'd been doing mostly administrative duties, but looking at Chris now, Barry knew exactly why he and Rebecca suddenly found themselves back on the field. Jill was worried about him, and from the look in his eyes, it was easy to see why. Jill must have wanted some friendly, familiar faces around as some kind of support.

"Your beard's all grey now," Chris commented.

"Look who's talking there."

Chris couldn't help but chuckle as he touched the scruff on his cheeks and chin. It was true that there was more grey in his beard now than there had been since the last time he'd seen Barry. Hell, there was more grey now than there had been even three weeks ago.

"So, you're really thinking that Umbrella still may have something going on?" Rebecca asked, opening a dossier that they'd all been given from the recon team that found the facility. "Blasts from the past all around."

"We're probably just going to make sure the place is derelict before firebombing the fucking into oblivion," Barry pointed out as he pulled the large armored vehicle onto a bumpy road that led out of the city.

"Hmm, maybe. But once Umbrella went tits up, all kinds of crazies came out of the woodwork," Jill said, refastening all the straps on her utility vest. "I mean, Simmons was right under our noses, and even though Excella Gionne's been dead for a few years, there are still some backers for TriCell in the shadows. The J'avo here are still getting infected somehow, and Neo-Umbrella died before it even really got off its feet, so they're getting their juice from somewhere."

"Could just be a lone nut. Like... we could be walking into the set of _Hostel_ or something," Rebecca said from the backseat, almost gleefully. Now that they were travelling, she realized how much she'd missed being in the field.

Somebody may have replied to Rebecca's comment, and somebody else laughed and they started making light conversation, but it was all a buzz in the background for Chris. The rocking of the car felt like the rocking of the waves when he'd been in the escape pod in Chinese waters, waiting for someone to come find him, but kind of hoping that nobody would. He'd lain on the floor of that fucking sphere, hating Piers for being so noble, hating that he'd done something stupid like thinking Chris's life was worth more than his. Hated him for leaving. Hated himself for not remembering his feelings for Piers until it was too fucking late to do anything about it.

_"So, where is it tonight, Chris?"_

_Chris looked over and grinned as Piers strolled towards him. The moon was full, so it was easy to see the younger man's smile, even in the darkness. The bright moonlight reflected in his golden hazel eyes in a way that made Chris have to look away. He knew that Piers had caught him staring a couple times, and he'd been unable to help the flirting that would just push out of his mouth, even when he was trying to be professional with the attractive sniper. He didn't want to encourage anything because he feared it might be seen as a commanding officer taking advantage of his subordinates Or like some broken down older man pathetically going after a hot young thing. But with Piers... it wasn't like that at all. They were so in tune with each other. Chris had the same comfort with him that he had with Jill._

_Chris looked up at the moon. "Not sure. Isn't your patrol almost over?"_

_Piers nodded, the smile still on his full lips. "Still hiking on a trail in New England at fall?" he asked, leaning against the railing of the building they were patrolling. It was a very quiet night, so they were continuing a conversation that they'd been having on and off for a week. Dreaming of places they'd rather be than in a war-torn part of Eastern Europe that was also facing possible BOW issues. So far they hadn't seen anything, but that didn't always mean it was all clear. These outskirt towns in Edonia were so deserted that the moonlight was the only illumination. It was actually kind of nice._

_"Nah, not tonight," Chris answered, giving Piers a sidelong look. "I think today it's laying on the beach as the tide comes in. It's really hot so I'm sweaty, but the water is cool, so it balances out. There's music everywhere."_

_"Sounds like it's not just a fantasy," Piers said, leaning his sniper rifle against the railing._

_"It isn't. Just remembering the last time I felt really... free." Chris shook his head. "Fuck, I was younger than you are now." Chris hated thinking about the age difference with Piers. It made him think uncomfortably of his last relationship, where there had also been a significant difference in years..._

_"Would this have been nude sunbathing?" Piers asked._

_Chris looked over at him, and saw an unmistakable look in his eyes. Piers wasn't trying to hide the shameless flirting. It's not like Chris had ever exactly been secretive about his sexuality. He knew that kind of look in a man's eyes, because he knew it was in his own right now, too. "...maybe," he answered with a small shrug. His and Piers's gazes held as the younger man took a few steps closer, until he was very much within reach. "So, where are you tonight? On that spring break trip to the Mexican Riviera?"_

_"No. Tonight I'm standing on the verandah of a building that I'm sure used to be really beautiful before the residents of this places started bombing the hell out of each other. The moon is really full, and I'm looking at the hottest guy that I've ever seen, wondering why the fuck he hasn't kissed me yet."_

_Chris opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He knew that Piers was very forward and direct, but this caught him completely off-guard. "Maybe because it wouldn't be proper..." he whispered, voice cracking under the strain of wanting to do exactly what Piers asked._

_"Fuck that." Piers closed the gap between them and cupped Chris's face between his hands and brought their lips together in a firm kiss. His tongue immediately pushed through Chris's lips, eagerly seeking passage into his mouth. It only took a second for Chris to respond in kind. Because they were roughly the same height, their hips pressed perfectly flush together. When Piers's breath caught in his throat at the friction, Chris let out a small but very masculine groan as his hands firmly and greedily sought their way across the clothed planes of Piers's body, until they were gripping his ass._

_Piers smiled against Chris's mouth, the flats of their tongues lavishing together as his hands slid into Chris's hair. Though their hands were being rough and possessive, their mouths explored each other gently. Chris could hear his own blood rushing in his ears, and he was certain he felt Piers's heartbeat against his chest, thundering and racing like his own, even through their coats and Kevlar vests._

_Piers rocked his hips, grinning and nipping at Chris's lower lip when the older man groaned from the friction. Chris felt a little lightheaded at the sensation of Piers's hardening cock rubbing against his own. His arms wrapped tightly around Piers's body, enjoying the feeling of warmth and nearness. The BSAA was a lonely life, and there was never much consideration for something as simple as a hug, or how fucking good it felt to kiss someone._

_Piers was the first to break the kiss, but he did so with a reluctant grin. "I'm still supposed to be on patrol," he murmured, giving Chris's kiss-bruised lips another slow caress with his own mouth. "If my Captain caught me slacking, he'd be pretty angry."_

_"Sounds like a real bear."_

_"Here's hoping," Piers replied, deadpan. A smile cracked his sultry lips as he stepped away from Chris's embrace._

_Chris shook his head and laughed quietly as their fingers still twined together, the last part of their bodies to break apart as Piers stepped away to pick up his rifle. "I can't believe you just said that."_

_"You can't?" Piers asked with a cocked eyebrow. "I kinda figured you'd be used to my directness by now. I'll be waiting for you in your room after your patrol is over. Can you believe I said that?" He grinned and slung his rifle over his shoulder. He started walking away to the other end of the balcony, putting a little extra saucy swing in his hips, laughing over his shoulder._

_"Wait," Chris called. He knew he should stop this in its tracks. He was so much older than Piers, and it was inappropriate to be fooling around with one of his men. Instead, he said "you need the right key." God, he wanted this man, propriety be damned._

_Piers turned around and walked backwards a couple of steps. "I guess I'm out of luck then, huh?"_

_The rest of Chris's patrol went by in a testosterone fuelled fog. A BOW could have walked right up to him and he wouldn't have noticed. He was too busy thinking about the taste of Piers's mouth, the way the lines of his body had fit so perfectly against Chris's own, the smell of his skin and hair, the curve of his lower lip just before they'd kissed. And... how __**right **__it had all felt._

_After he was relieved by Bravo Team's Captain, he went towards his room, planning to jerk off a few times to release his sexual tension. Once in front of the door, Chris searched his pockets, but couldn't find his keys. He shook his head, part in annoyed amusement, part in admiration for Piers's ballsiness. Chris tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. He went into his assigned room and closed the door, then promptly forgot how to do __**everything**__._

_Piers lay reclined on Chris's bed, completely nude. The moonlight from the window mingled with the soft light from the lamp on the cheap bedside table illuminated the lean, muscular lines of him. Chris's eyes went straight to his groin, his own cock kicking almost painfully when he looked at Piers's penis, circumcised and half-erect with three barbell piercings flashing in the light. The small silver balls lined up in a vertical row on the top and bottom side of his cock. It made Chris's mouth water as he began to shed his clothing on instinct. He crossed the room, the only thing on his mind being how much he wanted that dick in his mouth._

_Piers spun Chris's keyring around on his left index finger, a wry smirk on his lips and dark desire in his hooded eyes. "So... is one of these the right key?"_

Chris was violently taken out of his daydream when the humvee hit a series of violent bumps. The one that brought him back to reality jerked Chris so hard that he banged his head against the window.

"Jesus Barry, learn to drive," Jill snapped, rubbing her own forehead.

"Hey, the road is complete shit, as you could plainly see if you looked out the window, Jill Sandwich."

She rolled her pale eyes. "You know I hate it when you call me that. It's the stupidest nickname I've ever heard."

"I dunno," Rebecca commented, examining her elbow where it had smashed against the door handle. "Master of Unlocking was pretty dumb, too."

"At least you haven't heard some of the nicknames I have for you when it's just the boys," Barry commented lightly.

"What!?" Rebecca yelped. "Barry, you're such a pig!"

"And he's joking, because he's too afraid of me, and what I'd say to his wife."

Barry grinned wryly. "True. On both accounts." He flashed a look into the backseat at Chris, who looked just... unwell. He had a faraway, sad look in his eyes, like he wasn't even here with them in the car. He hadn't looked this haunted since they'd all found out about Wesker's betrayal of S.T.A.R.S.

"Piers was a really nice kid," Barry said suddenly. "I taught a marksmanship class that he was in. I remembered him because he was so damn good with a scope. It wasn't just about shooting up monsters with him, you know? He really wanted to make a difference. He reminded me of you, Chris, back when you first joined S.T.A.R.S."

"Back before I became the Black Widow, right?" Chris asked, seeing that both Barry and Jill flinched. "I lost my memory, not my fucking hearing," he snapped, turning his gaze to the window, staring morosely out at the landscape. He referred to a whispered nickname that had been going around since Piers's death. First Wesker, then Piers... he really did kill the men he bedded. He couldn't help but smile bitterly at the snow-capped mountains as they sped by. It was actually quite pretty, but Chris just couldn't enjoy it. Actually, he hadn't really enjoyed anything in a while. Not since before that last mission in Edonia. Not since he forgot Piers...

"Okay, guys." Jill was now no-nonsense. "There it is. Let's keep our heads, okay?"

Barry stole another quick look at Chris in the rear-view mirror. He expected to see that same lost, desperate look in Chris's eyes, but now he was all steel and business. He was the Chris that everyone knew and respected. He was the Chris who'd started the BSAA. He was the Chris who'd survived Raccoon City. It was as if Barry had imagined that other expression on his face.

Delta Team's squad leader jogged up to the humvee as Barry parked it near the perimeter border they'd set up around the facility. From the outside, it looked like a hulking shell, the kind of building that would have once been some sort of government owned facility, like a hospital or utilitarian school on a much smaller scale. The bleached stone walls were tagged with graffiti, old and new.

"Any J'avo sightings in the area?" Jill asked as she hopped out of the vehicle, her gun already out.

"No, ma'am. It's been real quiet. We haven't gone in yet, as per your instructions. But there doesn't seem to be any motion from inside. There are a few recent tracks from some kind of truck, but they look like they were made a few days ago."

"How far out did you check for other entrances that may lead into the underground?" Chris asked, pulling out his gun and checking the magazine before slapping it back into place.

"Three miles, Sir. We're still doing an external sweep, looking for more tracks or entrance points, but we don't see anything. The maps of any sewer systems don't show any connection to town, but we're still looking."

"Good," Barry commented, his trusty Desert Eagle in his hands, lovingly polished metal glinting in the sunlight. "If this really is an old Umbrella facility, it's probably got underground passages out the ass."

The four remaining members of S.T.A.R.S. all gave each other a silent nod, and moved towards the building on silent feet. They instinctively fell back into the feeling of giving silent commands and gestures to each other, as if no time at all had passed. Barry and Jill flanked each side of the large double doors that led into the facility, nodding to Chris and Rebecca to proceed. Chris shoulder-checked the door, Rebecca nimbly popping into the building with her gun drawn. She checked both her sides before slowly proceeding. She pointed her gun towards the corners, checking above them in the foyer, as well. She felt Chris at her back, doing the same.

"My God..." Rebecca trailed off, her voice echoing in the large foyer. Her heart leapt in her throat, and she could taste adrenaline and bile. She looked over at Chris, and was sure her complexion was as pale as his own.

"What?" Jill called, pushing into the foyer, sweeping her gun to both sides to check her corners. When she looked at the once grand entryway, she nearly dropped her gun in shock. She heard Barry let out a quiet string of curses behind her, and knew it wasn't her eyes playing tricks on her.

The place was falling apart, but still held some of its former glory. Under the grime, dust and pieces of collapsed floor from the walkway above, the floors still had spots where the marble gleamed through. The wooden banisters for the large double staircase would probably shine again if given some proper care. The weak sunlight coming through the windows showed the bullet casings and old syringes scattered on the floor amongst the grit and old bloodstains on the rugs that would have probably cost a fortune if they'd been taken care of. If cleaned up, it would have looked exactly like the entryway of the mansion where all their lives had changed forever.

If they all hadn't known better, they would have sworn that they were standing in the foyer of the Spencer mansion in Raccoon City.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** This chapter is pretty much the reason I wrote this fic, and the reason that Chris's campaign spoke to me so clearly. It was also why it took me a while to write this chapter - there were a lot of painful feelings that I was remembering while writing. Chris in this chapter, and in the next few chapters coming up, is me (Hell, Capcom even gave him that flower tattoo on his chest, and I have a flower tattoo on my chest! We're soul-sisters). I may not have had my true love turn into a BOW in front of me, but the breakdown is all too real. Also, I have to spend almost every free moment knitting my Christmas presents, so writing this took a very large back burner role, and the next chapter will follow suit, at least until after December 25th.

**Chapter Two**

_"And you can't save me now, I'm in the grip of a hurricane,_

_I'm going to blow myself away..."_

"This is bullshit," Barry hissed.

"Okay, okay. Let's not lose our heads," Chris murmured, feeling a bit like a hypocrite for even saying that in his current mental state. "Just from looking at the outside of this building, it's nowhere near big enough to be an exact replica of the mansion facility. We don't know if there's anything underground, but we'll see what we can find, and we'll stick together this time."

"If we come across any zombie dogs, I'm totally leaving," Rebecca muttered.

"At least Wesker's already dead so he can't blackmail me this time," Barry muttered under his breath. However, it was loud enough that Chris heard, and he couldn't stop the flinch that went through him. Would there ever come a time where thinking about Albert Wesker, or even hearing his name, would stop fucking hurting? Would he ever stop feeling the ugly painful self-loathing that he didn't see Wesker for what he was? Would he ever stop feeling stupid for letting himself fall in love with such a man? Would he ever stop feeling the anger, the betrayal? Would he ever stop feeling the guilty desire?

They began a sweep of the foyer, feeling a sick sense of déjà vu. They first checked the door underneath the stairs, figuring it may lead to any underground passages. They then checked the doors on the second level, then the first. All appeared to be locked except the door on the first floor.

"I bet that all the other doors need some fucking dumbass special key," Barry muttered after checking one of the upstairs doors, finding it locked. He shoulder-checked the wood, and found that it actually gave way pretty easily.

"Careful," Jill called from downstairs as she tucked a stray lock of hair up under her black baseball cap. She crouched down on the ground near some discarded syringes, poking at them with the muzzle of her gun. "There's still a little bit of wet fluid in a couple of these," she pointed out to Rebecca as Chris went upstairs to check on Barry.

"Maybe used within the last 24 hours?" the younger woman guessed. Though the last decade had aged all of them in so many horrible ways, Rebecca's face still retained all its child-like youthfulness with her round, rosy cheeks and big, expressive eyes.

"What do you have up here?" Chris asked coming up to stand in the broken doorway.

"Storage," Barry called back, opening the lid on a dusty, water damaged banker's box. "Cyrillic writing, so we'll need a translator. Printed out on a dot matrix printer. Looks like the dates are from about 20 years ago, at least in this box."

Chris opened the lid on another box, finding some ancient looking computer parts and actual floppy discs. "Might be something on these."

"Does the BSAA have any Commodores laying around to even read that stuff?" Barry asked with a grin. Both men felt a little relieved at seeing this dusty storage room. It just hammered home that this was indeed not the Arklay mansion. "So, uh... Chris..."

He narrowed his eyes. "So, uh... Barry?"

"You really think Wesker was here 20 years ago? Maybe that Jake kid's mother was some sort of cover?"

"He wasn't with her because he loved her, I'm certain of that," he said blackly. "It's a good chance. And, what do you think I'm going to do if you ask me about him?" Chris's tone was waspish. He could feel himself starting to get angry in a way that only seemed to happen after his bout with amnesia. Chris knew that Piers had been so right in China, saying that this wasn't his typical behaviour. Chris was also so gentle and even-tempered that this anger seemed like it belonged in someone else's body. His mind knew this, but he still couldn't stop it from welling up, like right now. It felt so alien and wrong and he hated himself for it, but it still came out anyway. "Do you think I'm just going to flip out?"

"Kind of like you're doing right now?" Barry asked calmly, raising one eyebrow, his china blue eyes cold. "I was trying to be diplomatic, since I know Wesker is a delicate subject for you. So you don't need to jump down my fucking throat, okay? We were all fooled by him."

"Is that what you really want to ask me about?" Chris's jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it.

"No," Barry said, remaining calm as he opened another banker's box. It looked like some sort of cardiogram printout, all done on yellowed, crumbling dot matrix paper. It looked like something had spilled all over it. "Maybe you just think I want to confront you about it. Whatever sex life you shared with Wesker in the past is your business, so don't project your own damn disapproval or whatever other issues you're still carrying around on me."

"Whatever," Chris snapped, storming off across the crumbling floor of the upper level. Barry sadly watched him go, but didn't try to stop him. He knew that once they left this facility, he'd be filing some sort of injunction to get Chris removed from the field. He was _not_ okay.

Chris went to a locked door on the other side of the floor, and kicked it open with way more force than necessary, wishing it was Barry's face. Wishing it was Wesker's. Wishing it was his own. _God Piers, help me..._ The door shattered open in a rain of wood pieces and splinters, revealing some sort of meeting or break room. The table was completely covered in dust that hadn't been disturbed for obviously a very long time. There were a few toppled over chairs with cobwebs stretching out between their legs, and a few discarded mugs that were permanently stained by old coffee that had turned to mold and dust.

Though the room looked completely abandoned and forgotten, a feeling of a presence crawled across the back of Chris's neck like a spider. He looked around the room, but saw only the dusty table and upturned tables. The forgotten shards of lives lived long ago. There was a painting on one of the walls that featured what looked like a group of farmers. Their eyes stared out at the room through a layer of dust.

Chris slowly walked over to the painting, thinking it must have been these harsh oil-created faces that made him think somebody was watching him. The farmers seemed normal on the surface, but there was something strangely sinister about the looks in their eyes, and the way they all huddled together in front of the half-closed barn door, as if they were standing together to hide something within. He stared closely at the painting, feeling exposed and stripped bare under their strange painted gazes. They held such anger and accusation in their eyes, as if they could see right into Chris's soul. As if they knew the guilt he felt, and judged him for it.

He had to turn away from the painting, feeling the guilt that plagued him pushing up against every internal barrier that he'd built up to try and keep it at bay. He gripped the edges of the coffee table, slamming his blue eyes shut. They burned behind his closed lids with unshed tears. As he tried to get hold of himself, his brain got flashes of memory that stabbed at him like knives.

_"I know, I know," Chris said sheepishly as he inhaled from his cigarette, seeing the disapproving look on Piers's face. "I've cut back a lot. I used to smoke like a chimney, but I allow myself a few. This one's your fault. You're just too good at fucking."_

_Piers couldn't help but grin, but he still shook his head. They were laying on the messy, sweaty sheets in Chris's bed, enjoying a day off duties by enjoying each other. It had been nearly a month since they'd started sleeping together, and they spent every possible free moment they could together, getting to know each other both as lovers and as men. Piers still had dried semen flaking on his stomach and some of Chris's dried on his inner thigh from where it had dribbled from out of his rectum, but he didn't want to get up to clean himself off. He just wanted to enjoy the afterglow, to enjoy Chris's nearness. They'd already had sex three times that evening, and Piers knew that he'd be ready for another round again soon._

_"Well, I'm just glad that I can wear out my daddy," Piers said silkily, tracing the pattern of the flower tattoo that covered Chris's right shoulder and pectoral. He laughed at the put-out look on Chris's face._

_"Don't call me that," he said around his cigarette. "It's creepy."_

_"I'm sorry I made you angry, Daddy." Piers's eyes glinted mischievously as he mock pouted._

_Chris glared at him, his lips quivering as he tried not to laugh._

_"Come on, Daddy. Give your boy a kiss." Piers laughed and screeched as Chris quickly grabbed one of the pillows and began to smother him with it. "Captain Redfield, this is highly inappropriate treatment of your fellow soldiers!" he exclaimed, voice muffled through the pillow. He got his legs wrapped around Chris's hips and rolled them over, tossing the pillow away as he gripped Chris's wrists and pinned them lightly against the mattress._

_"You're such a prick," Chris insulted lovingly._

_"The first guy who ever hit on me told me the same thing," Piers said, taking the cigarette from Chris's mouth and stubbing it out in an empty beer can from a liquor run they'd made the night before. He lowered his body so he was laying between Chris's legs, his chin resting on his broad chest. "It totally wasn't even my fault."_

_"Did you call him Daddy, too?"_

_"No. Okay, I'm going to ask you the same thing he asked me." Piers schooled his face to be serious and alluring, both of them breaking into laughter that was a mixture of comfort, post-coital euphoria, and slight drunkenness. "Stop making me laugh, Captain. I'm trying to tell you a story here. Okay, so he came up to me, and was fucking smoking hot. I was only sixteen or seventeen, and had just come out, so a babe like him coming up to me had me all nervous and hot and bothered. So, you're going to answer the question he asked me."_

_"Okay."_

_"Without thinking about it, what kind of animal would you be?"_

_"That was a pick up line?"_

_"Just answer."_

_"Owl," Chris said after a very brief pause, saying the first animal that came to his head._

_"See, you have a pretty good choice. I froze and just wound up saying a raccoon."_

_"You want to be a raccoon?" Chris tried to hide his laugher, but it came out anyway._

_"No," Piers ground out. "But I was in a tizzy about this guy talking to me that it's the first thing I could think of. He got this look on his face like I'd said that I like to fuck animals, so I said 'if you don't like my answer, why did you ask me such a stupid question? And what kind of pick up line is that, anyway?' He then called me a prick and moved on to another guy."_

_"His loss," Chris murmured, fingers slowly tracing patters up and down Piers's sides. "Why a raccoon?"_

_"I don't know!"_

_"They are pretty adorable and cuddly." Chris wrapped his arms around Piers, holding him against his chest tightly. "And you both enjoy picking through the garbage... Ow!" he trailed off as Piers bit the swell of his pectoral muscle. The sting was then soothed as Piers's tongue came out and licked across the light bite marks he'd left behind. He then darted the tip across Chris's nipple before bringing it into his mouth._

_Chris's body arched towards the touch, his fingers digging into Piers's back. Piers groaned when he felt Chris's penis begin to grow hard against his hip. He sucked on Chris's nipple harder as he used his hips to part Chris's muscular thighs. He sat up and reached for the half-empty tube of lubricant in the messy sheets. It had been new and full at the beginning of the evening. "Aren't old men supposed to have a hard time getting it up?" he asked, sliding his body downward. His tongue trailed down Chris's stomach, down past his belly button, and lavished down the underside of Chris's erection._

_"It's a good thing I have such stamina..." Chris's breath caught in his throat when Piers's tongue moved across his left testicle, then his right, then moved lower until it teased his rectum. He let out a small, desperate gasp when the other man's tongue entered him, Piers's fist slowly working his cock. His pelvis arched up against Piers's mouth._

_Piers sat up and began to coat his erection in lubricant. "And why is that?" he asked as he bowed forward again. He took Chris's left testicle into his mouth as he stroked some oil around the opening to the older man's body. He grinned at the noise Chris made when Piers's lubricated fingers entered him. He'd entered Chris once already that evening, and Chris's rectal muscles were still very relaxed, so his fingers slid in easily._

_Chris's brow furrowed in pleasure as he smiled and looked at the beautiful man with his gentle eyes and sensual body kneeling between his legs. "Oh, because of that new group of rookie recruits that are joining us in a few days. I might have to trade you in and keep an even younger stud happy." Chris laughed at the brief flare of jealously that flashed across Piers's face._

_"Is that so?" Piers pushed into Chris's body in one slow, yet determined and possessive thrust. Chris's whole body arched against Piers, and his mouth opened in a silent wail of pleasure. Piers then began a firm rhythm, hips rolling against Chris's. With each thrust, Chris felt the Jacob's Ladder piercing in Piers's penis rubbing over his prostate, shooting pure joy through his entire body. With each thrust, with each slap of Piers's scrotum against his ass, Chris demanded, begged and pleaded for the other man to fuck him harder. He moaned Piers's name over and over._

_Piers bowed over him, their sweaty skin sliding together as if it were always meant to be. Their lips fused together in a perfectly messy kiss. Piers nipped at Chris's lower lip and stubbled chin. "I doubt any of those green rookies will give you this, Captain."_

_"I dunno," Chris panted in between groans. "I might need some more convincing..."_

Chris gripped the edges of the dusty table, his head killing him as the flood of memories crested over him, like the cold black waters that had swallowed Piers and separated them forever. Chris felt his stomach painfully clench, and sweat suddenly wetting his back. He had to slam his eyes shut against the headache and the tears. His eyes _burned_, and he felt like he was going to either vomit or shit his pants, his entire digestive tract constricting painfully.

He gripped the edge of the table so hard that it creaked under his hands. He began breathing out through his mouth to gain control of himself. He felt like a prisoner in his own sweaty, rebelling body. His skin felt like it was shrinking all around him, too small to contain his muscles, organs and bones. His chest burned as he panted for oxygen, the room swimming with unshed tears. He clutched at his chest, fingers brushing over his heart, knowing that the bloodstained BSAA badge Piers left in his palm was there in an inner pocket, against his heart. It was the last place that Piers existed anymore. Why did Piers have to fucking save him?! Why had Piers thought that Chris's life was more important than his own? Why couldn't they have just died together, drowning in water and fire?

"Pull yourself together, you fucking idiot," Chris quietly berated, his whole body shaking with effort to bite back a scream so full of sadness and helplessness that it terrified him and seemed to only weaken his resolve to get himself under control. "Suck it up, you pussy. People are counting on you. People fucking need you. Just get over it." Thinking about Claire and Jill and Barry and Rebecca and all the BSAA didn't make him feel any better. In fact, it just made him feel heavier, like someone had attached an impossibly heavy yoke to his shoulders. But, it did push back the wall of terrible feelings. Chris had never been so frightened of anything as he was of what was behind that welling up within him. All his other terrifying experiences had a monster to fight, something in front of him. This? It was inside him, but he didn't know what it was.

Chris took some slow, long breaths, and raised his head, looking around the room, feeling like he had some semblance of control over himself again. The farmers in the painting no longer seemed like they were glaring at him, and were just hard working men posing in front of a barn. It made Chris wonder if he'd imagined it. He looked down at the table that was actually creaking under the tightness of his grip. His fingers had created streak marks in the thick layer of dust.

It was only then that he noticed there was another part of the table where dust had been displaced. There was a card on the table, and it looked like it had recently been moved. The card itself was dusty, but a part of the table underneath gleamed as if new. He picked up the card and saw that it was actually a key card. He flipped it over and examined it. The backside had a magnetic stripe and the familiar logo of Umbrella, something that still sent chills up Chris's spine.

Chris pocketed the key card, thinking he must have displaced the card when he'd gripped the table, but something gnawing in his mind made him wonder otherwise. Maybe he would have listened to that gnawing feeling in the past, but right now he couldn't trust it. He couldn't trust anything in himself. As he left the room, he turned back to look at the painting, uneasiness still resting in his mind.

"Chris?" he heard Jill's voice call from the hallway. "You okay?" she asked when he stepped out, noticing the hollowness in his eyes.

"Fine," he said, though she knew he was lying. "I found this key card." He brought it out for her to examine.

"Everything mostly looks like it's storage, but there's a door under the stairs we haven't tried yet. It doesn't have a key card reader, but maybe something beyond it does." She shook her head when she saw the Umbrella logo on the back side.

"We better go check it out."

"Chris, I..." Jill began as Chris gently pushed past her. He didn't stop to hear what she had to say, and she didn't even know exactly what she'd been ready to say to him. She _knew_ that she should tell him to go out with Delta team, that he wasn't fit for field duty, but she just didn't want to admit that Chris Redfield, _her_ Chris, would ever be mentally unfit for this. She needed him to be strong, because if Chris couldn't make it to the end of this journey, she wondered if any of them could.

"What, are you guys just hoping that the door will open itself?" Chris asked when he got downstairs, ignoring Jill's steely stare burning between his shoulder blades.

"I'm not too joyous to find out what's back here," Rebecca muttered. "All the other rooms have just been storage, so all the bad stuff _has_ to be behind this door."

"Not helping," Barry muttered, giving Chris a sidelong gaze. The other man pointedly ignored him as he crouched beside Jill, who began to work the lock with her lockpicking kit.

"You're almost at two minutes," Chris murmured after a brief silence. "Losing your touch?"

"Shut it, you." Jill bit her lip, then chuckled as the tumblers clicked in place and unlocked the door. "You were saying...?"

"Nobody likes a gloater, Jill," Barry pointed out.

"What the _hell_, Barry?" Jill shook her head and dusted off her knees as she stood. "Are you Mr. Pot, or Mr. Kettle?"

"Okay, chuckles. Open that door so you can be the first one to take a face full of zombie." Barry trained his gun on the door, Rebecca pressing her back flush against the wall beside the door, gun up and at the ready. Chris nodded for Jill to kick the door open. She did so and then went flush against the wall on the opposite side of the door from Rebecca.

Once opened, the door revealed a dank stone staircase that went down. Chris pulled out his flashlight, holding it along with his gun as he slowly descended. The staircase wasn't very long, and there was a steel door at the bottom. There was a card reader beside it, but there was no power. However, the door looked like it had been crunched from within, and when Chris leaned his shoulder into it, it slowly slid open, like it was stuck on something.

"Give me a hand," Chris called up the stairwell. Barry came down and helped Chris push the door.

"Shit," he hissed, gesturing to the ground with his flashlight. There was a reddish brown smear on the ground as they pushed the door. "Cover!" Barry called up the stairs as he and Chris gave one last big push and muscled their way into the room.

Chris went in first, and immediately covered his face and pushed against Barry to try and get out of the room. He remembered seeing the photographs from Leon's reports about this particular BOW, a female-formed one that was covered in breast-like pores that oozed out gas hot with C-Virus. "GET OUT!" Chris screamed to Jill and Rebecca in the hall, not daring to breathe back in as he heard hissing from the BOW.

"What the hell...?" Barry hissed, aiming at the thing with his Desert Eagle. He felt Chris's hand come over his mouth as the other man began to drag him back towards the stairwell, but when he'd spoken, some of the opaque blue gas had entered his mouth. He could taste something strange and metallic in the back of his throat, like old blood.

Chris slammed his eyes shut after trying to get a glimpse of where the Lepotitsa was. His heart slammed in his chest when he felt Barry cough and sputter against his hand. He fired at the beast as he tried to drag Barry towards the door. He heard Jill and Rebecca also firing, but it was muted behind the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, and the increasing sound of Barry's coughing. He felt tremors going through the other man's body that started small, but got more and more violent. Chris groaned through his tightly clenched teeth, a restrained wail that Barry was succumbing to the same gas that had destroyed the populations of Tall Oaks and China.

He let out a broken-hearted wail as he pushed Barry away from him. Chris stole a fast look, and saw the transformation taking over his old friend. So, he did the one thing he could do – be merciful. He fired a round right into Barry's skull, between his eyebrows. He heard a scream in the background that may have come from Rebecca. It may have come from the creature, but it also may have come from him.

The three final remaining members of S.T.A.R.S. unloaded their weapons into the Lepotitsa, who wailed and sputtered, small rivets of diseased gas leaking from the obscene pores. The BOW gave one last ear-splitting shriek and seemed to fall to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. After it gave its last sputter, it seemed to almost flatten and lose any kind of animation that gave it substance. Jill and Chris kept their guns trained on the thing while Rebecca's large eyes searched the room. She saw the ventilation fans in the ceiling, and followed their wiring to a big dusty switch on the wall nearby. She flipped it and the loud whirring cleaned out the air.

Jill lowered her gun and took in a few breaths, closing her eyes as she looked down at Barry's body. He stared up at the ceiling, the sickness halted within him. But, it had already begun to ravage him, and there was no question what he would have become. She looked over at Chris with tears in her eyes, but he was still holding his gun on the Lepotitsa, his hand shaking ever so slightly. He also still seemed to be holding his breath.

"Chris," she whispered, going over to him. She covered his gun with her hands, slowly lowering it so it pointed to the ground. "Chris," she said again, reaching up and stroking his back. "Breathe."

He slowly looked up and saw Jill's face, full of sadness and love.

"Breathe, honey," she whispered again.

Chris almost involuntarily let the old oxygen and carbon dioxide out of his lungs. He took in a few shaky gulps of air, and looked down at Barry's body. Thin splatters of brain matter snaked across Barry's cheek from the hole in his forehead. The look in his eyes was one of surprise. Everyone seemed to look surprised when they died. He'd noticed that about every dead person he'd seen. When he'd had to identify his parents, refusing to let Claire see them like that before the morticians could do some work on them, the biggest memory he'd taken away from it had been how surprised they'd looked. Mouths slightly parted, eyebrows slightly raised in permanent shock. He'd known that their eyes must have been so wide before they'd been closed...

"You did what you had to," Jill murmured, chin resting on his broad shoulder.

"I know," Chris whispered back. And he did know it. Barry already looked barely human. But it didn't make it any fucking easier.

"Whoa!" Rebecca exclaimed. She pushed her grief about Barry down, and checked out the room while Chris and Jill were absorbed. "Guys, check this out." She picked up a clipboard full of test results, and peered at the tubes on the counters. Everything in this room looked newer than the rest of the facility. It reminded her of the labs under the mansion, where they'd truly discovered Wesker's betrayal of S.T.A.R.S., and the Tyrant BOW. "These test results are fairly recent. Within the six months."

"J'avo tests?"

"Doesn't look like it," Rebecca murmured. "Besides, aren't the J'avo created with shots, rather than the gas? Didn't Leon Kennedy say that the gas created zombies?"

"It _does_ create zombies," Chris muttered, cocking his head and peering at the big tubes. "So, why was one here?"

"Guard duty?" Jill asked rhetorically. "Someone obviously cared about this research... whatever the fuck the research was exactly."

"Embryos...?" Chris wondered. His strength wasn't in medical information, and he wasn't even sure what he was looking at.

"No, but they're growing something." Rebecca flipped through the pages. "No, wait... a couple of these are embryos, but they aren't being grown. Looks like stem cell research."

"Don't you need way more sophisticated technology for that?" Jill asked, looking around the room.

"Definitely," said Rebecca. "But, I mean... if you're doing the research for nefarious purposes, I guess it doesn't matter as much." She sighed heavily. "Should we bring Delta Team in here to bring Barry out?"

Jill slowly shook her head. "Not yet. We want to make sure there's no more of those fucking tit-monsters around here. The last thing we need is more infection."

"We'll have to burn him, won't we?" the younger woman asked, voice thick with sudden, unshed tears.

Jill nodded silently, not trusting her voice. "This kind of looks like a shoulder joint and collarbone...?" she cocked her head, trying to make out the object suspended in the murky fluid.

"Hmm, it looks like they were doing skin grafting, at least according to this. There are definitely pages missing." She looked up from the clipboard and pressed her face against the small tank to get a better look. "It's not a real human shoulder. I think they were using some sort of mannequin or animatronics to grow the skin on."

"Why?" Jill wondered.

"Why does Umbrella do anything?" Rebecca asked caustically, keeping her gaze on the tanks. If she looked down at Barry... "Maybe they want the J'avo to pass as uninfected?"

Jill couldn't help but snort as she looked further around the room. She saw Chris staring at the wall above the farthest tank, seemingly at nothing. "You okay...?"

"Hmm?" Chris started and looked over at her. "You see something here?" He gestured to the wall in front of him. "Something looks... I don't know, out of place."

She cocked her head, studying the wall and dusty steel countertop. "You think?"

"Just a hunch."

"That's good enough for me," she murmured, climbing up on the counter, pressing her gloved fingertips against the wall. "Maybe some kind of secret entrance? We figured there must be some underground entry to this place..." She shook her head, cursing under her breath. "The wall seems pretty solid," Jill commented after knocking. "Sorry, Chris." She jumped down from the counter, nearly stumbling when it moved just enough for to startle her and make her lose her balance.

She reached out and steadied herself with one of Chris's broad, hard shoulders. They peered at the counter, and saw that it was actually a separate part. The countertop next to it had a long lip, the seam hidden under the tank, which was filled with what looked like skin grafts for a back. There were piled boxes beside the end of the counter that once moved out of the way, showed scratches and scuff marks rooted into the linoleum floor.

Chris and Jill worked together to move the thing, but it wasn't easy. Rebecca also joined in, and it took a lot of straining from all three of them to pull the counter far enough away to reveal what looked like a manhole cover.

"Jackpot," Rebecca murmured, stuffing files into her satchel for study later. "You know, I'm really starting to think I have seweraphobia."

"Can it be pried up, or do we need a crowbar or something?" Jill asked as Chris fingered around the edges of the steel trap door.

"It will open." Chris got his fingers in a groove that must have been meant for just this task, and started to lift. It was pretty heavy, but nothing he couldn't handle, though he was sweating by the time he got the cover flipped open.

"I guess it's a good thing you took all those steroids," Rebecca commented, shining her flashlight down the hole, her gun aimed right at the center of the spotlight. "God, it reeks down there." She wrinkled her nose at the stench of garbage wafting up from the hole.

"You're so funny. I'll go down first."

Before either woman could protest, Chris was already shimmying down into the hole. It wasn't a very far drop, and he found himself in a very dark and dank concrete hallway. He slowly moved forward to check if it was empty, and noticed a door on his left that looked fairly new.

"There's a door down here," he called up, going to it. He saw a card reader to the left as he heard Jill and Rebecca come down into the tunnel. "You two check down the tunnel, I'll check this door."

Jill and Rebecca nodded as Chris searched his pockets for the keycard he found in that dusty room where he'd remember Piers...

_Stop making me laugh, Captain. I'm trying to tell you a story here..._

He pulled out the card as he heard Jill and Rebecca's echoing footsteps disappearing down the tunnel. Chris pressed the card to the reader, but nothing happened.

_Not working, my pet? Just another failure in a long list of your many, many, many failures._

Chris checked that the reader had electricity running to it. The light was orange, but did not flash green when he swiped the card again.

_So... is this the right key?_

_Chris, this isn't going to be easy, but we need you to identify your parents. I'm so sorry for your loss._

He tried the card again and again, images rapidly flashing through his mind, almost too quickly for him to process, but slow enough that he felt all of them crashing down on him. The bullet entering Barry's head, Claire crying into the side of his neck at their parents' funeral, Piers's smile. Wesker's laugh and the feel of his breath against the side of Chris's face.

Each time the card failed, he tried it again with shaking hands, as if the next attempt would finally work.

_Piers, no! Goddammit, don't do this!_

_Don't leave me behind..._

"The tunnel's blocked about half a mile down," Jill called, jogging back up the hallway. "It looks like it was blown... out... Chris...?" As she got closer, she could see the light from her flashlight shining off wetness on Chris's face. Tears. "What's wrong?"

"The key card won't work," he ground out, swiping it again and again. His hands were shaking so bad that he dropped it. He seemed completely unaware of the fact that he was crying. He stumbled to his knees to pick it up, letting out a desperate, almost inhuman sob as his trembling fingers scrabbled in the grit for the card.

"Chris!" Jill exclaimed quietly, crouching beside him and putting her hands on his back. Under her touch, he slumped, like all the bones in his body had become shaking jelly. Jill had no idea what to do as Chris started weeping, heavy and broken sobs mixed with a desperate intake of air, like he was hyperventilating. She brought her arms around him and pressed her cheek to the top of his head, looking over helplessly at Rebecca. The younger woman covered her mouth and looked on the verge of tears herself.

"The card's not working," Chris whispered again, feeling cold sweat covering his back and arms as he reached up to try it again. If the card would just work, everything would be okay.

"The card's not important," Jill whispered, covering Chris's hands and lowering them down, not knowing what else to do. She'd known that Chris wasn't well, but she just didn't want to believe it, deep down.

Chris's whole body shook with the effort to control himself. He couldn't see through all his tears, and snot leaked from his nose. He didn't know how to stop the tears, to stop the shaking and the difficulty breathing and the pain as his stomach clenched. He wrestled back a scream as he felt himself falling into some abyss within himself.

_Piers looked up at him as the escape pod rushed away, black water separating them forever..._

The scream that Chris had been wrestling against came out and ripped through his throat, ripped him in two. This sadness, fear, panic, guilt and pain was too big for him to control. It had taken over his body like a parasite and eaten him, and now Chris could only feebly fight back against it, feeling completely useless. Feeling like a fucking failure. He'd been shot, stabbed and sliced by the claws of a BOW many times in the past, but this pain felt so much worse. With physical injuries, there was something to focus on. There was an enemy. With this, the pain was everywhere. He was made of it, and the enemy was inside him. It was his own body. It was his own mind.

_Pull yourself together, dammit,_ he cursed internally at himself. _Get over it. It`s a fucking stupid key card. What kind of fucking pussy are you? Are you really that fucking faggot who has no business being a soldier? You know that's what they all think of you, what they all say behind your back. You failed everyone who ever cared about you, and now you're just crouching on the floor, crying. Pathetic._

Jill held Chris as he broke down, loathing herself. She should have seen how unwell he was. She shouldn't have let him come on this mission. "Do you have anything that can calm him down?"

"Nothing that will stop his... panic attack." Rebecca had been unable to bring herself to say 'nervous breakdown' in regards to Chris Redfield. She rummaged in her fanny pack, full of first aid items, finding a vial of Thorazine. She'd packed it, thinking it might be useful if they'd caught a J'avo and wanted to bring it back for blood tests. She never thought she'd have to use it in this capacity. "I have some Thorazine here." She filled a small syringe and then injected it in Chris's hip after squirting out the air bubble.

"He's not schizophrenic, Rebecca!" Jill hissed quietly.

"It has anti-anxiety properties. It will at least calm him until we can get him to a hospital."

"Oh, Chris..." Jill whispered.

"I'll go get someone from Delta team to help us carry him up." Rebecca got to the top of the ladder and immediately ducked her head. Down in the tunnel, they'd been unable to hear any of the gunfire that was now happening. "Jill!" Rebecca shouted, pulling out her gun and popping her head up. The gunfire wasn't in the lab room, so she vaulted out and got herself behind a counter. "We've got trouble."

"Shit!" She looked down at Chris, not wanting to leave him. He was in no state to defend himself. His crying and trembling had subsided as the Thorazine worked into his blood. "I'll be right back, sweetheart." She squeezed Chris's shoulder, then quickly followed Rebecca up the ladder.

Chris barely even registered that she'd left. The drug worked through him and left him feeling numb and empty, but not better. He felt like his whole self had been sucked out of him, and had left some raw, torn, gaping wound behind. He heard the distant muted sounds of shouting, but it meant nothing to him in his current black hole of existence. Colors and shapes smeared together, either by tears or by the drugs pumping through him. Chris didn't care which. He just wanted to be gone from all this. He just wanted to be with Piers... Piers would know what to do. Piers would know just what to say to snap him out of this. Piers would know how to save him.

Chris heard the distant sound of footsteps, but wasn't sure if he was imagining it, or maybe it was Jill. It was hard for him to function right now, not just because of the drugs, but because all he could think about was Piers, and about every other person in his life that he'd let down in his life.

_Especially yourself, _Wesker's voice hissed in his ear. It seems so real that it made his body shudder. _When have you ever done anything right? You even admitted to yourself, how you're a fucking faggot failure. Isn't that what you said, my pet?_

"Go away," Chris murmured, his jaw aching. His throat felt like it was on fire, and his heart burned with each beat.

He looked up through the smear of light and shapes, seeing what he thought was Wesker's ghost crouching over him. God, he wanted it to be Piers. He wanted to Piers to come and take him away from this fucking mess. It would be so easy to just end it, and the spectre of Wesker crouched before him with malevolent, cruel glowing eyes seemed to agree.

"Poor baby," the hallucination of Wesker cooed mockingly, stroking a hand through Chris's hair. If he weren't so exhausted, drained and doped up, he would have scuttled away from the poisonous caress.

"Piers..." Chris couldn't help but whisper. "I'm sorry."

"You should be sorry," the shadowy figure in front of him pointed out. "Look at you. This is the great Chris Redfield?" Cruel laugher echoed in his ears. "Piers can't help you now." Chris found the knife in the holster at the small of his back was slapped into his hands. It felt like his hallucination of Wesker had put it in his hands, but he may have actually done it himself.

_You may as well end it, my pet. You've been thinking about it for a while, deep down. You could be with Piers again. You could be with your parents again. You could be with me again. You know you still want that, deep down. Claire would be better off without you._

_Claire would be better off..._

_You could be with Piers again..._

"Piers..."

Chris didn't even feel the sting of the combat knife cutting into his wrists. The shadowy figure rose and disappeared, as blood welled from Chris's wrists and a pool began to swell around his head. He didn't remember raising his arms to slit his wrists open and bleed out on the floor, but he didn't remember not doing it, either. The feel of his warm blood rolling around his face was oddly comforting.

_You think Piers could save you from me, my pet? You'll always belong to me. Even in death._

Chris began to feel himself float away from the Thorazine and the blood loss. It made the distant screams feel like white noise he didn't have to worry about anymore. He didn't have to worry about anything anymore. Just finding Piers again. Just being in his arms again. It was the last place he'd been truly happy. He wanted that again... God, he wanted that again. He felt himself floating away, blackness overcoming him. The black of the cold China waters swallowing him whole...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_"I'm going out, I'm going to drink myself to death._

_And in the crowd, I see you with someone else..."_

* * *

_Claire was anxiously pacing in her apartment living room, biting her already bitten fingernails. Chris would have gently taken her hands between his own and pulled them away from her mouth, but he wasn't fucking there. He wasn't fucking anywhere, as far as they knew. She'd been told that he just simply vanished from a BSAA facility after a mission had gone bad._

_It brought back bad memories for Claire – Chris leaving and not telling her where he was going. The last time, she'd run after him and gotten ass deep in zombies. Sure, she'd met Leon and Sherry out of it, but she was really restraining herself to just fly to Edonia and rip the whole country apart looking for her brother, her whole world._

_She stopped pacing when she heard the buzzer. She practically tripped over all her discarded shoes and boots to unlock the door and allow her visitor up. She'd been speaking on the phone to a member of Chris's BSAA team, Piers Nivans, and he was coming to ask her where Chris might go, and to give her an update._

_She opened the door and popped her head out in the hallway as she heard footsteps just outside. "Hi," she said breathlessly. "You Piers?"_

_"Yes," he answered, reaching out to shake her hand. "Piers Nivans. Nice to finally meet you, Miss Redfield."_

_"Just Claire is fine."_

_"Chris mentioned you a lot," Piers murmured, feeling sorrow welling in him. Looking into Claire's eyes now made him feel like he was looking in Chris's eyes. It just fucking hurt._

_"He spoke very highly of you, too." She didn't mention that there had been an enthusiasm in Chris's voice when he talked about this young man that she hadn't heard in her brother's voice in a long time. She knew, just from the tone, that Chris greatly liked and respected this young man, and was completely smitten with him. Seeing the flash of pain in Piers's very lovely hazel eyes, she saw the feeling was mutual. "What happened? They won't really tell me anything."_

_"Because we don't really know anything," Piers admitted sadly. Piers respectfully took off his sneakers, as he'd come in casual clothes, rather than in any kind of BSAA capacity. "We had a mission that went bad, and we lost several men. They became BOWs after they got infected..." he trailed off helplessly. Seeing Finn and the others turn into those monsters woke him up at night, but finding Chris pushed those feelings to the backburner._

_"Come on in and sit down," Claire offered, gesturing for Piers to enter her small living room. Nearly every available surface was covered in plants of all different sizes and breeds. The spaces on the walls showed photographs of national parks around the world, and endangered animals with logos for conservation groups, as well as photographs. Piers saw Chris's face staring down at him from more than a few, at various stages of his life. It twisted his stomach with worry._

_"He got a concussion, and was brought to a local hospital. He seemed to get some kind of amnesia that they think is probably PTSD related. They said that they see that kind of thing a lot in soldiers, that it just..." he sighed, looking at a photograph of Claire and Chris, hugging and smiling in front of some rustic looking cabin. "They reach their breaking point. Chris always takes so much responsibility on himself."_

_"I know," Claire whispered. She never would have gotten through losing their parents if Chris hadn't been there for her. Even then, she'd gone through her bad patches, especially in her teenage drug addict years, but Chris had always picked her up. It was only as an adult that she realized nobody had been there to pick him up._

_Piers stood up, restlessly pacing. "The BSAA are still looking in Europe, but I was hoping that maybe he'd try contacting you."_

_"You said he had amnesia, right? What if he doesn't remember me?" The idea killed her._

_"Maybe something instinctive will bring him home." Piers shrugged desperately. "We've already combed the area. They don't think he could have gotten far, since he wasn't well, but the Captain's resourceful. And he was probably confused and terrified..." Piers stopped in front of a photo of Chris and Claire as children. Claire must have just been a toddler, and a very young Chris held the hand of a woman that looked very much like him, a bright green balloon clutched tight in his other fist._

_Claire watched as Piers reached out and rested his fingertips against the frame. "How long have you two been lovers?"_

_He looked over his shoulder with a startled look on his attractive face. A red flush moved up his neck and filled his cheeks. "I... uh... a-about a month."_

_"I meant it when I said that he spoke very highly of you."_

_He flushed an even deeper red. "I admired him before I even met him," Piers admitted, looking away because he felt shy about articulating his feelings about Chris, especially to his sister. "I became a member of the BSAA because of him. I was worried that when I met him, he'd be some figure that I built up in my head, and the real thing would be this horrible disappointment." He spoke to a more recent photograph of Chris, where he looked happier. Where he didn't look like the world was on his shoulders. "I never thought that I'd..." he stopped himself. He didn't know yet how to finish that sentence._

_"You'll have to tell him that when you find him," Claire murmured. She'd gotten up and come to stand beside Piers. When she put a hand on his shoulder, he jerked, surprised by it. "He'd like to hear it. He hasn't had a lot of good in his life lately, so I think he'd really like to hear it."_

* * *

Claire rubbed her tired eyes for the hundredth time. She swore that she could hear scratching every time she blinked. She'd come immediately to the private hospital the BSAA had brought Chris to, barely even giving herself time to pack after Jill's frantic phone call. The public facilities in Edonia weren't up to code, so they'd flown him to Switzerland. The doctors were still examining him after their plane arrived, so she hadn't yet had a chance to see her only living relative.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Sherry whispered. She'd insisted upon coming after getting Claire's frantic text message. Claire had been there for her so many times, it was the very least she could do. Besides, Chris had saved her life more than once, and he barely knew her.

"Jill said he slit his wrists. Is anyone who does that really 'fine'?" Claire asked, her voice dead and very unlike herself.

Sherry didn't have an answer. All she could do was squeeze Claire's hand tighter and rest her head against her shoulder.

"Claire!" Jill exclaimed in a quiet, hospital appropriate voice. She trotted over to where the younger woman sat, knowing that she looked equally as terrified and awful as Claire did.

"Jill..." Claire slowly rose to her feet, her brain not really comprehending how to move her limbs right then. "I was hoping that I'd heard wrong, but seeing your face..." Claire stopped, helpless under the wave of grief that crashed down on her. She distantly felt Sherry squeezing her hand, and it was her only lifeline.

Jill briefly cupped the side of Claire's face with a shaking hand. She thought of Claire as her own little sister, too. "I knew he wasn't well. He hasn't been since Wesker died. And losing Piers like that... fuck, Claire. I should have done something. I should have known he needed time off. I shouldn't have listened to him when he said he was fucking fine."

"What happened?" Claire urged as they all sat down. Sherry stayed right by her side, her silent rock.

Jill paused, looking past Claire to Sherry Birkin. She of course knew the young woman and her story, but hadn't ever met her. She hesitated to talk about a BSAA mission in front of her. But her big blue eyes only showed concern and worry. "We went to this facility in Edonia where we thought that the J'avo were being holed up, or maybe even created, since they're still getting the disease from somewhere, and their numbers aren't dwindling. We found a facility that looked just like the Spencer mansion, at least in aesthetics."

"Wesker was in Edonia, wasn't he?" Sherry asked, her eyes suddenly shrewd. "I mean, he was there to conceive Jake..."

"That's what we all thought, too. I mean, all the equipment looked really old, but we found a lab that had obviously been used recently..." She sighed, rubbing her face. She was too numb to cry. Jill got up and started pacing. "Barry got infected by a BOW, and Chris had to put him down. Being in that place, all those memories of Wesker and Raccoon City, having to do that to Barry... it was too much. He just broke down. Rebecca had to inject him with Thorazine just to make him stop crying. We went to get some members of Delta team to help, and wound up getting in a firefight with some J'avo. When I came back down to check on him, he was laying in a pool of his own blood, half dead. He'd slit his wrists with his hunting knife." She suddenly punched the wall in fury. In self-loathing. "I should have taken that fucking knife away from him!"

"You saved him in time," Sherry said quietly.

"What if he didn't want to be saved?" Jill asked, staring at the small dent she'd made in the wall.

Sherry looked down at her lap. She'd known that Piers had died, and felt guilt over the knowledge that he'd died because he and Chris had gone on to fight that giant BOW, giving Sherry and Jake the time to escape.

"He's going to need long-term care for a while, according to Rebecca. I mean, they'll keep him in a hospital under suicide watch until they can transfer him back to the States, but..."

"But, what?" Sherry asked. Her heart ached for Chris. She remembered what it had felt like to lose her parents under terrible conditions, to know that her father had mutated past the point of humanity. Yes, William Birkin had done things that nobody could be proud of, but he'd been a very good father to her. He'd loved her, and devoted whatever small amounts of free time he had to her. His death, a monstrosity or no, still ached to this day. She didn't know if she'd ever get over losing someone she loved. That's probably how Chris felt now. Claire had confided in her about the nature of Chris and Piers's relationship, and she'd even seen it herself, in the way they'd interacted with each other, the way Piers had looked at Chris.

"Rebecca says he had a nervous breakdown. You... you don't just go back to your old life after that, I guess. He'll probably have to stay in a psychiatric hospital for a while."

They all remained in silence, not knowing what else to say. Claire seemed to have shut down, and just stared off into space, her eyes wet with unshed tears. Sherry checked her phone a couple of times, seeing if Leon had contacted her back. She'd texted him, asking him to come and be by Claire's side. She shook her head angrily where there was nothing there from him. She'd known the way that Piers stared at Chris because that's the same way that Claire stared at Leon. Except at least in Chris's case, the feelings were reciprocated, whereas Leon didn't seem to know that Claire existed in a female capacity.

Sherry jerked when she felt her phone vibrate from within her lilac colored hoodie. She pulled it out, frowning when it wasn't Leon. It was Jake. She shut off her phone's screen without reading the message. She didn't really feel like dealing with him right now.

"Who was that?" Claire asked, voice void of emotion, yet so full of it.

"Jake."

"You don't sound happy about that."

Sherry shrugged, resting her chin on Claire's shoulder again. "We got so close and bonded so much when our lives were in danger, but... I dunno, he's not exactly everyday boyfriend material."

"He's your Steve Burnside," Claire murmured. She often thought of Steve, blaming herself for his death. Yet she knew that if he'd survived, they couldn't have amounted to any kind of couple. They weren't meant for the real world. Just like her stupid crush on Leon. Too bad she couldn't have the same clarity about him as she did about Steve.

"I guess. He's just so... I mean, he's very sweet to me, but he's sometimes so possessive."

"Like father, like son," Jill muttered, crossing her arms tightly across her breasts, crushing them down. She held her arms so tightly that it wasn't easy to breathe, but she still held on. Foolishly trying to hold herself together. She knew Chris's current state wasn't entirely Wesker's fault, but she blamed him regardless. He made a damn good scapegoat.

"Miss Redfield?" a doctor called as he walked towards them.

Claire immediately stood up. "Is he okay?"

"He's awake right now. We've transfused quite a bit of blood into him, but his vitals are currently stable," the doctor informed with a slight German accent. "You can go in and see him. He may not be very responsive," he warned her paternally as he ushered her towards Chris's room. "We put him on a heavy dose of some anti-anxiety drugs, but he is lucid." He stopped outside the door, putting his arm out before Claire could enter. His light brown eyes were kindly, yet weary, behind round spectacles. "He fought us when he first woke up, and he's a very strong man, so it was hard for us to contain him. He wasn't trying to be violent," the doctor assured. "He was scared, panicking and very confused. We had to restrain him, and he is under 24 hour suicide watch, so there will be a camera monitoring the room. I thought I should warn you."

Claire swallowed, and then slowly nodded. She rubbed her sweaty hands on her grubby, slept-in jeans and followed the doctor into the room. It took all her strength to bite back a sob when she saw Chris, but she didn't want him to hear her distress. She gently pushed past the doctor and rushed to the bedside, touching Chris's hand as she lowered herself into the plastic chair that sat there. She bit her lips hard to stop another sob as she looked at the blood dappled bandages around her brother's wrists, and at the restraints that cuffed him mid-forearm, just above the gauze. She also saw strapping disappearing under the covers near Chris's ankles.

"Hi," she whispered, looking at Chris's face. His eyes were open and staring at the ceiling.

Even through the fog of the clonazepam the doctors had pumped into him, Claire's voice reached him, and twisted his heart. He was aware of the pain in his wrists, but just didn't care. He didn't even care about the restraints. "I'm sorry, Claire," he said quietly, voice robotic and slightly blurred around the edges. A tear trickled down the side of his face and into his hair, but he didn't register it. His lips felt numb, and the whole bed felt like it meant to swallow him whole. He felt Claire's forehead press against his neck, and felt her weep, but he didn't register it. The drugs didn't make the sorrow and panic vanish. It just numbed them. It didn't make the pain stop. It just made Chris not care.

He felt himself floating away in a black sea of drug-fuelled loneliness, like the river that his parents' car had plunged into after going off the road. Like the molten sea of lava that had finally broken his tether to Albert Wesker. Like the cold Chinese waters that had stolen his last bit of happiness from him.

And he just didn't care...

* * *

"Is this really worth it?" Chris asked, realizing that he and Dr. Nagra had been sitting in silence for quite a long time. Long enough that his voice came out crackly, and he had to clear his throat.

"Sometimes silence can be very telling," she answered cryptically in her silky voice, lilted slightly by an Indian accent. "Like how for the past 45 minutes, you've been stroking the scars on your wrists."

Chris looked down, seeing his fingers poised over them. The cuts were still slightly pink around the edges, but were healing nicely. He would forever have the nasty scars as a reminder, though. The cuts had been very deep. Very determined. Very permanent.

"I know that it can be difficult for former soldiers to open up and share their feelings. It's a product of environment and training to be stoic. That may be why you didn't seem to get much out of the group sessions. I'm hoping that you'll feel more comfortable in these private sessions, that you can open up."

"So you can dissect my brain?" Chris asked, looking at the scars. He was now staying in a psychiatric facility in Chicago, near where Claire lived. "Former soldier..." he trailed off, repeating his new psychiatrist's words. "That sounds weird."

"How?"

"I've been a soldier all my life. I just... maybe I don't know how to be anything else. And if I can't do that anymore, what will I do?" This was the most he'd really talked to any of his psychiatrists. He had an initial distrust of them after being restrained and monitored like a caged animal in Europe.

"What would you like to do?"

"I don't know."

"That's okay. You have time to think about it," Dr. Nagra pointed out, making a few notes on a yellow lined notepad. "Everything about you is changing, so your career shouldn't be the first thing you worry about."

"I don't know if I want to worry about any of it. I'm just so tired and alone."

"The exhaustion is normal. Looking back on your life, when was the last time you really rested?"

Chris thought about it, and the fact that it took him more than five silent minutes, and he still didn't have an answer told volumes. So did the sympathetic look in the doctor's warm brown eyes.

"You wore yourself down in every way possible. Physically, emotionally and mentally. This kind of thing is detrimental to anyone, but for people who suffer from anxiety disorders, it can be prolonged. Same with depression. Panic attacks are also very physically draining, and your clonazepam and effexor will make you drowsy, too."

"Yeah, I heard all that shit from my other doctor."

Dr. Nagra gave a sly smile. "Well yes, but sometimes it's nice to hear that it's _okay_ to feel that way, not necessarily just that you _will_ feel that way. You also mentioned feeling alone. Do you want to talk about Piers?"

Chris jerked when the doctor said his name.

"I take that as a no?"

"Was that in my file?"

"Just that you lost him in a mission. But... do you realize that while you sat there, staring out the window, you weren't in complete silence? You whispered his name."

Chris stared back out the window, not wanting to look into her eyes. He felt his stomach clench in what he now had come to realize was a telltale sign that a panic attack was going to happen eventually if he didn't calm himself down. Hell, even if he calmed himself down, it could still come. "I don't want to talk about him right now."

"Okay."

"Is it normal to... I dunno... dream about suicide attempts that failed? To imagine that someone else was there?"

"A lot of people who have attempted to end their own life look back a lot on the failed suicide. Either with regret or with sadness that it didn't work. What do you mean about someone else being there?"

"Rebecca had injected me with drugs, so I don't know if I was just hallucinating, but it really felt like someone else was there..." he sighed. "It almost felt like I hadn't cut my wrists myself. It's almost like..." Chris stopped himself. He didn't know if he wanted to open the can of worms that was his relationship with Albert Wesker yet. He was sure Dr. Nagra would have a field day with that emotional mess. "It was almost like a man that I had killed was there, crouching over me, and that he was the one who cut my wrists." He thought back to the hallucination of Wesker's shadowy figure crouching over him, looking down with glimmering, evil red eyes.

"Disassociation is common. Sometimes people can't imagine that they went that far, that they did that to themselves, so they think of outside forces. Do you believe that someone else tried to kill you?"

Chris shrugged. "I never thought of myself as suicidal before this." He couldn't help the yawn that escaped him. Even just keeping his head upright seemed to exhaust him.

"Losing someone you love can transform you in horrible, unexpected ways."

"How can I live in a world where he isn't breathing anymore?" Chris asked quietly, more to himself than to the doctor.

Dr. Nagra checked her watch. "Look, I have another session starting soon, Chris. I want you to think about what you just asked yourself over the next few days. I'll come back to see you on Thursday, okay?"

"Okay." He watched her leave, wondering briefly what kind of problems her next patient had. Being in this hospital, he almost felt like some sort of pretender, because there were people here who had problems that seemed so much more terrible than his own. At least he didn't have to wear a straight jacket, and he could still function in terms of feeding and dressing himself. Maybe that was one of the reasons he didn't like group therapy. Somehow, even after they'd told him that everyone's problems were different, and it wasn't a competition, he found himself diminishing his own problems, and making light of them, which the doctor had called 'destructive', and then referred him to Dr. Nagra.

Chris wondered if diminishing his own problems was more of a lifelong thing as he drifted off in the armchair he had set up by his window. Mrs. Connolly, the woman in the next room with dementia, was screaming, but that had sadly become usual background noise, and didn't keep Chris from partially napping. Maybe diminishing his own worth and problems was why he'd had such a hard time in moving past Albert Wesker. Maybe it was why he'd never properly mourned his parents.

He jerked awake when he heard a knocking on his door. Sherry Birkin stood apologetically in the door, looking very cute in a pale green long sweater, black leggings, and a printed scarf that picked up both the green in her sweater and the blue of her eyes.

"Sorry! Didn't mean to wake you!" She apologized with a smile, coming into his room.

"It's okay. I'm always sleeping." Chris stretched and wiped his hands on his plaid pajama pants. He found a side effect of his effexor was sweaty hands. "You look really cute today."

"Aww, thanks!" She squeezed his shoulder and sat down across from him, handing him a coffee and a bag that contained a turkey and avocado sandwich from a local cafe, Chris's favorite. Sherry actually visited him quite often. He knew it was partially to check up on him when Claire couldn't make it because of school or her work with all her environmental groups. Claire was finishing up some courses for her Masters in economics, specializing in the economies of underdeveloped countries. Chris appreciated her company, especially since Jill had been called back to Europe now that Chris had officially been retired from the BSAA.

He looked past Sherry to the door, and the coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth when he saw Jake Muller standing there, looking uncomfortable.

Sherry frowned. "He insisted on coming. I wasn't even going to, but..."

"It's okay," Chris assured her. He knew that he'd promised Jake answers about his father, but that didn't stop his stomach from twisting, and the invisible weight to press down on his chest. "Come in," he said to Jake.

Sherry looked over her shoulder at her companion, glaring at him and mouthing 'be nice'. She felt very protective of Chris now, and if Jake started getting in his face, she would hurt him. She made sure that was perfectly evident in her glare.

Jake was surprised when he looked at Chris Redfield. This wasn't exactly a place he'd been dying to visit, but he wanted answers about his father, and Chris Redfield had promised to tell him everything. That promise had haunted Jake since it was made at gunpoint. That moment, with Chris coldly staring down the gun and not even flinching when the fired bullet had grazed his cheek was how Jake pictured this man in his mind, so seeing him now was a disconcerting shock. He'd lost weight, and he had a haunted, tortured look about him. There were dark circles under his blue eyes, which seemed to burn in a way that was reserved only for the people who'd been through the worst kinds of emotional hell. The look in his eyes actually reminded Jake of his mother, and he fought the urge to just walk out and not deal with this shit.

Chris watched as Jake sat down, eyes remote and cold and so much like Albert's. He knew that without the calming effect of the clonazepam in his system, he'd be freaking out right now, but he felt oddly calm. "Do you want me to start from the beginning, or do you have any specific questions?"

Jake crossed his arms, fidgeting. God, he fucking hated hospitals. His mother had constantly been in and out of them. "How was it personal? You said that when you killed him, it was both personal and following orders?"

Chris didn't say anything for a while, but he felt the answer slowly rising in his throat, like a tide. "We were lovers." He hadn't said those words in so long, and it felt so strange to say them, like exhuming a grave.

Jake's fidgeting all stopped, and he became as still as a statue. His eyes widened in shock, and he and Chris stared at each other for a long time. Jake then abruptly stood and walked out of the room.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought him."

"It's okay."

"I'll be right back." Sherry stood and walked out into the hallway where Jake was pacing in a way that told her he was angry.

"Why didn't you fucking tell me?" Jake hissed through clenched teeth. "I went in there like a fool, only to find out my dad and Redfield are fags?"

Sherry's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I know you're surprised right now, but don't be a dick. I know it's difficult for you to go against your nature, though."

Jake opened his mouth but snapped it shut again. "You should have warned me."

"About what? It wasn't my place to tell you that, and seriously?! _This_ is what you're angry about? Your father was a megalomaniac hell-bent on genocide. He killed thousands of people, and wanted to kill a lot more. Albert Wesker fucked whoever he could get something out of, and used people's feelings for him against them."

Jake shook his head and threw his hands up, storming off. Sherry glowered at his back, hoping that he could feel it burning between his shoulder blades.

"Don't worry about him. He's an ass," Sherry murmured when she went back into Chris's room.

"He handled it better than a lot of other people have. And I've been called worse than a fag, believe me."

Chris seemed fine, but it didn't escape Sherry that there was now a pill bottle on the window sill.

"You think he's cute, don't you?"

Sherry groaned. "God help me, yes. Against all my rationality, yes."

"Wesker men have that effect on people." Chris sighed. Thinking about Wesker made his mind go back to his conversation with Dr. Nagra about his suicide attempt, how he'd imagined that Wesker was there, wielding the knife. How he'd seen glittering red eyes above him, staring down at him with such frightening sadism and evil. But... one thing that Chris would never forget was how it felt to be in the line of sight of Albert Wesker's disease-altered eyes. The slit pupils, the irises that burned with totalitarian conviction like hellfire, yellow and orange. He knew Wesker's eyes by heart, as well as he knew every whorl of color and marbled vein in the irises of Piers's beautiful hazel eyes.

So, why had he imagined him with red eyes...?

* * *

_"Man, it's dark in here," Chris murmured, stroking his palm up Piers's back as he followed him into the dimly lit pub. "Don't walk so fast, or I'll lose you." He moved his hand down to the younger man's ass, holding it firmly._

_"It's not _that _dark, Captain." Piers grinned and leaned into Chris as they found an empty booth. "And don't complain. It took me _forever_ to find this place. Eastern Europe isn't exactly a hot bed for gay bars. I guess that's why it's so dark."_

_"Seems to defeat the purpose," Chris murmured as they sat down on the same side of the booth. He put his hand on Piers's thigh as the other man wrapped his arm around Chris's shoulder and kissed his temple. "I can't see how hot you are."_

_Piers laughed against him. "Considering you've spent the last few weeks living between my legs, I'm sure you can use your imagination, Captain." They'd spent all their free time since their first night together in Chris's bed, so Piers had done some investigating and found this place about a 5 hour drive away from where they were stationed. They'd have to stay the night in the old world town, but both considered that perfect. They'd get to spend some time together as a new couple without having to hide._

_Chris reached up and tilted Piers's face towards his so he could kiss those perfect lips. "Oh, believe me. I'm using my imagination. Where's that hotel?"_

_"Come on, Captain... we're on a date. At least buy me dinner first."_

_"Yes, dear. What would you like?"_

_Piers picked up the menu, and had to squint and bring it close to his face to see the writing. "Uh..."_

_Chris started laughing, which caused Piers to gently nudge him in the side. "It's not even in English."_

_"I can read Cyrillic... sort of."_

_"I reserve the right to laugh if you order something insane like a cow's head, Nivans."_

_"Then I reserve the right to not have sex with you tonight."_

_"Psssh," Chris sputtered, laughing. "Threaten things that you can follow through with."_

_Piers tried to appear angry, but when Chris's lips met his, his body melted. "Okay, you're right Captain. I'm a giant whore."_

_"At least you're my whore, my love." Chris briefly panicked at the use of the word 'love', but it felt so right, and judging by the look in Piers's eyes, it was definitely welcome._

_Piers kissed Chris very firmly, and smiled against Chris's lips. "Buy me a steak, and I'll do anything you want, my love."_

_"What haven't you already done?"_

_Piers arched an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you like to know...?"_

Chris gasped and jerked, already finding it hard to breathe through the tears and panic attack. The hand on his shoulder scared him, causing his already racing heart to constrict painfully. Being assaulted by the memory of the first time he'd said 'love' to Piers while in the middle of a panic attack definitely hadn't helped matters.

"Oh, honey!" Claire exclaimed, dropping the reusable shopping bag she'd brought on the floor as she crawled up on the bed beside her brother and spooned his shaking body against her own. Since he'd come to this hospital, she'd seen him break down a few times, and it broke her heart every single time.

Claire held Chris for almost an hour as the panic attack passed. The pills eventually took effect, and the tears stopped. His body became slumped and pliant, and she stroked his hair. "You want me to get your doctor?"

Chris shook his head. "She'll just ask me about Piers, and I... I just _can't_, Claire."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry," he apologized, sounding wobbly again. He hated himself for letting Claire see him like this. She had enough things on her plate right now, and she didn't need to spend all her time worrying about him.

"Don't you ever apologize to me. You get a free pass for life after all the times you dragged me home from some flea-infested flop house, or some alley outside a bar covered in my own puke when I was all messed up."

"I was thinking about Piers... about when I called him 'my love'. I should have actually said I love you to him. Now I can't ever say it."

"He knew," Claire said firmly. "And he loved you, too. He told me so."

Chris slightly rolled over so he could look up at his younger sister with sore, red-rimmed eyes. "When...?"

"I met him while you were missing. We got to know each other. He talked to me about you, how much he admired you. How much he loved you. He didn't have to tell me, though. I could see it in his eyes, even at the mention of your name. He was a sweetheart."

"I don't know if I'll ever get over him."

"It probably will never stop hurting, but it will start hurting less in time. Just like with Mom and Daddy." She had the feeling that Piers had been 'the one' for Chris, and knew Chris well enough to know that he would hold the loss until he died. Maybe he never would get over it. "Does this attack mean that you won't be able to come home soon?"

"The doctors say I'll always have to worry about them now. I think I'm more still here to make sure I don't kill myself again."

"I kind of like the world a whole lot more when you're in it, Chris."

"I'm not ready to leave yet. I can't... I don't want to be part of the world right now. I'm safe here. Besides, you would have to actually get rid of some of your plants to fit me in your apartment, Poison Ivy."

Claire couldn't help but chuckle, because the joke sounded extra funny with Chris's deadpan, robotic anxiety pills voice. "I brought something today that might cheer you up."

"Doubtful," Chris said quietly, just wanting to hide under the covers for five years.

Claire reached over the edge of the bed and pulled up the reusable grocery bag. "I brought about ten giant bags of peanut M&Ms, aaaaannnnddd... voila!" She pulled out a DVD case. "_The Little Mermaid_!"

Chris smiled at her affectionately, feeling a fresh wave of tears. When their parents had first died, he'd spent many nights on the couch with Claire as she stuffed her face with peanut M&Ms and watched her favorite movie, _The Little Mermaid_, over and over again until she fell asleep with her head against his shoulder. It had been the only time that she hadn't cried herself to sleep.

"And, we're in the perfect place to sing along really badly with the songs. Nobody will think it's really strange!"

Chris was allowed with his laptop, though they monitored any internet browsing of the patients, so they put the laptop half on each of their laps, and popped in the DVD. About halfway through the movie, they were through more than half of the bags of candy, and Chris was actually really enjoying himself. It surprised him that he could remember all the lyrics to the songs. He was certain he'd have 'Kiss The Girl' in his head for about a week.

The rare smile that graced Chris's face and made him look carefree and ten years younger wilted and vanished when he heard a firm rap on the open door. Jake Muller stood there, feeling pretty damned uncomfortable. He hated feeling uncomfortable.

He looked away from Chris to the woman who sat on the bed beside him. "You must be Claire," he said smoothly. Sherry hadn't really described what Claire Redfield looked like, and had pretty much just imagined her looking like Chris with breasts. She was quite attractive, with big blue eyes, her deep brown hair tied back in a fresh-faced ponytail. Her scoop-neck tee also did wonders for her cleavage. "I'm Jake Muller."

"I know who you are," Claire replied acidly. "And I think you should leave." The last thing that Chris needed today was a visit from Albert Wesker's son.

"Claire," Chris said, a little sharply. "It's fine." He added "I'm not made of glass," afterwards in a quieter, gentler tone.

"You sure?"

Chris stared at Jake, and gave one slow nod.

She crawled off the bed. "I'll be right outside, okay?" As she left, she shot Jake a glare, internally shuddering at the similarity in his eyes to his father. At least Wesker had mostly worn sunglasses.

"I'm a little surprised you came back," Chris said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, but he didn't get up. He was just too tired to move, and he had the feeling this conversation may drain him even more.

"Yeah... I didn't handle the last time all that awesomely."

"Sherry made you come back, didn't she?"

"No," Jake ground out.

Chris just stared at him expectantly.

"Okay, well not entirely."

"She may look like an elf, but she's pretty tough," Chris commented.

"More like a giant nag." Jake slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms. "So... does... uh, were you and that Nivans dude...?"

"Yes," Chris said quietly.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I mean, he was a little twat, but... oh... sorry."

Chris couldn't help but smirk. "Your lack of human compassion and sympathy are actually refreshing."

Jake and Chris sat in silence as the red-haired man composed his thoughts. "How long were you and my fa-Wesker together?"

"About a year?"

"And you never realized that there was something wrong?"

Chris shrugged. "Haven't you ever been infatuated with some hot girl, only to later find out that she was a raging bitch?"

Jake nodded, smirking in a knowing, masculine way. "Yeah, and I was kicking myself for not seeing what a lying slut she was."

"Your father was the epitome of lying slut. Your father was extremely charismatic when he wanted to be. His acting was Oscar calibre, and I thought I was in love with him. He must have been laughing his ass off when I told him I loved him."

"Sherry said that he slept with people because they could give him something, that he only cared about himself. He must have used you because of that S.T.A.R.S. group, right? To have someone on his side. But... my mother didn't have anything. She didn't have any political agenda like that Tricell woman. She didn't belong to any kind of organization. Why her?"

Chris pursed his lips, feeling great sympathy for Jake at that moment, and for his mother, a woman he'd never met and would never meet, but with whom he shared an emotional bond through Wesker's betrayal. "I have two answers for that. We recently found an old Umbrella facility in Edonia, and it looks old enough that it was back when Wesker was still doing scientific research for them, so he may have been using her as a cover."

"Or?!" Jake exclaimed impatiently when Chris was silent for a while. "Did you lose your concentration when your neck shrunk down to normal size?"

Chris couldn't help but laugh darkly. Jake's callousness was like a breath of fresh air after all the sad sympathy and watchful gazes he'd been dealing with.

"Or, he just liked that she was completely enamored with him. It gave him complete power and control over her, and he found it fun to break her heart. That's what he really loves..."

Jake stared at some tiny speck on the knee of his jeans, trying to focus the anger bubbling inside him on behalf of his mother. He suddenly stood and walked out of the room, not wanting to be there anymore. Chris barely even registered it, because of course, while he may have been talking about Jake's mother, he was also referring to himself. God, would Albert Wesker ever stop affecting him like this?

"See, no blood or anything," Jake said, spreading his arms out as he walked past Claire. "You shouldn't baby people who are sick. They resent it."

Claire glared at him as he walked away, not noticing that he didn't move with his usual cocky saunter. As she made her way back to Chris's room, she pulled out her phone to check her messages. She wasn't expecting anything, but by now, it had become reflex. She texted Sherry back about a lunch date they'd planned for the next day, advising her that her somewhat boyfriend was a complete asshole.

She then deleted a mass message from one of her classmates about a lost thumb drive, and paused when she saw one from 'unknown'.

_Attention C. Redfield, don't wait! Get into the stock market while it's hot! No longer in hibernation, the market is charging like a bull! Stocks like UPI, TRC and NUC are all on the rise! Don't wait, you must act by February 15__th__ at 10:30 AM CST to take advantage of the Fireside Corp's 215% profit! Your future depends on it! Act now!_

Claire frowned at the text. She often got stock market spam, being an economics major. However, this was the first one that ever had given her any kind of deadline, and she'd never heard of Fireside Corporation. Normally she would have deleted such junk messages, but something about this one unnerved her. She wasn't familiar with those stock abbreviations, and usually these kinds of ads promoted really famous stocks, like Google or Goldman Sachs. She leaned against the wall and did a quick Google search on her phone for Fireside Corporation, but didn't get anything that had to do with the stock market.

She then checked the abbreviations, and her heart nearly stopped. UPI brought up a bunch of news stories about the stock collapse of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals International. TRC led her to stories about the fall of Tricell's Africa division, and NUC stood for Neo-Umbrella Corporation.

"Claire?"

She gasped and nearly dropped her phone when Chris popped his head out into the hallway.

"You okay?"

"You scared the hell out of me!" She swatted his arm and pocketed her phone, knowing that once visiting hours were over, she'd be looking into this so-called Fireside more closely.

"You look really pale. Bad news?"

"Nah," Claire lied. "Just that Jake asshole."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." She forced a cheery smile. "I'm good."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:** Ladies and Gentlemen, we have ourselves a villain. Also, this chapter is pretty intense and kicks off why there's the graphic violence warning, just as a head's up.

I got very uncomfortable writing Chris's parts of it because of my own personal experiences, but I also LOVED writing it, because of my love of horror movies and sadistic, evil villains. The last part had some inspiration from the last scenes in the French horror movie _Martyrs._ If you've seen it (and I recommend it because it's a great horror flick), you'll know why.

**Chapter Four**

_"I brace myself, 'cause I know it's going to hurt,_

_But at least things can't get any worse..."_

* * *

"I took this picture while he was sleeping," Chris held the phone out for Maggie to see. "There's a whole bunch of them. He called me a pervert, but I think he thought it was kind of cute that I was a creep." He smiled, pressing the phone against his face, as if it would invoke the smell of Piers's skin.

He grinned. "Oh, man... it was freezing that day. That's why our faces are so red." He showed Maggie the picture on his phone of him and Piers standing in front of a tank, smiling and holding weapons while on patrol.

Maggie responded by burying her face in her crotch, licking her ass.

"Yeah, being around Piers made me want to lick ass, too." He reached out and stroked Maggie's soft white fur. The cat made a peeping little mew and then continued to bathe herself. He'd initially thought it was a bad idea when Claire had brought him Maggie from the SPCA as an apartment-warming present, not knowing if he could take care of a pet in his mental condition. But, the companionship the cat had given him was sorely needed.

He sighed and buried his face in the cat's fur, feeling like just going back to bed. It was about a week away from Valentine's Day, and Chris just felt alone and fat and tired. He'd lost a lot of weight in the months since his breakdown, but some of the muscle had turned to flab, and he felt gross and unattractive. But, the only man he cared about impressing and arousing was now just a memory in his phone's photograph folder. He'd started lifting weights again on the days that he had enough energy to get out of bed, so some of the muscle mass was returning, but he just wondered why he was bothering. Why he was bothering trying to improve his body. Why he was bothering trying to pick up his life and move on. Why he was bothering trying to live at all...?

Maggie meowed angrily and ran away when the doorbell buzzed noisily through the apartment. Chris knew it was Claire, coming to take him to therapy, but he considered not answering the door. He could just curl up on the couch and watch the all-day marathon of _Storage Wars_, dangerously mixing alcohol and his clonazepam, hoping that he would pass out and just wouldn't wake up.

The buzzer blared again, and he knew that Claire would bust down the door, so he shuffled over to the intercom and buzzed her up.

"Hey!" Claire greeted cheerfully, kissing her brother's cheek. He hadn't shaved in a while, so his beard was thicker than normal, and getting greyer. She shook her head when she saw that Chris _still_ hadn't unpacked most of his stuff, and that there were a lot of empty beer bottles lined up on the coffee table.

"Ready to go?" she asked. Chris's clothes weren't exactly clean, and quite frankly, he looked like shit.

He shrugged. "I guess."

"Your shirt has a stain on it."

Without a word, he shuffled to his room and sorted through a box of clothes to find a clean t-shirt. It was a cheerful, bright orange with a vintage sunset print on it, and it was completely at odds with the very uncheerful air about Chris Redfield.

"I figured we could walk to the hospital," she called as she tried to straighten out all the discarded bottles and plates. She put the bottles back in the box so they could be recycled later, and put the dishes in the sink. "It's a pretty nice day, and it's not too cold or windy."

"Okay," Chris murmured dully, stuffing his feet into his winter boots.

"What's this...?" Claire asked, knowing that if she stopped talking and looked at Chris, she'd just start crying, because it was just painfully obvious that he wasn't getting better, that he had one foot in the grave. She picked up what looked like a pink, slightly misshapen cup.

"It's a shot glass I made."

"You made this? How?"

"I started going to a glass blowing class."

"Really?!" Claire gently put down the cup, for it suddenly seemed like the most precious object in the world. "Where at?"

"There's a studio downtown here an artist teaches classes in blowing, and about stained glass windows. I dunno if I'll go back." Chris's therapist had suggested that he find hobbies, because it would give him something to concentrate on, and hobbies deterred destructive behaviour. He'd actually enjoyed the glass blowing, but in his current defeatist state, he didn't see the point.

"You better go back!" Claire exclaimed. "I'll drag you there if I have to. That's great!"

Claire's enthusiasm was touching, but it did little to brighten his black mood.

"Don't forget your scarf in case the wind picks up." She knotted a slate grey scarf around Chris's neck. "Wool?" she asked with slight disapproval.

"_I'm_ not the vegan, Claire. I'm sure when they killed the sheep for mutton after they took its wool, it was shot in the head as painlessly as possible."

"You're making fun of me."

"Yes," he said with a slight smile.

"Well... I'll allow it because it seemed to amuse you so much. I don't know what you have against vegans."

"I don't have anything against vegans or veganism. I just don't need to hear a three hour lecture about it from some neo-hippy."

"Charles didn't go on about it for three hours," Claire pointed out in defense of her friend. Before Chris had moved into his own place, he'd briefly stayed with her, and met some of her friends. "Charles thought you were pretty cute, you know."

"He's too..."

"Socially conscious?" Claire interjected as they walked down the sidewalk. She decided that they'd take the long way to the hospital so they could go through a nearby park. She had the feeling that Chris hadn't been outside much.

"Stupid."

"He's not stupid!"

"He thought Edonia should stop cutting down their rainforest."

"Okay, so geography isn't his strong suit."

"He couldn't find ugly in a Wal-Mart parking lot."

"Chris!" she exclaimed, swatting his arm with her hat.

"He's not Piers."

Claire's smile faded and she looked at her brother sadly. "That's why you got his name tattooed on your arm, huh?"

"You noticed that?"

"Before you put on your jacket."

"I don't want anybody else, Claire. So please don't try to set me up." Just after Christmas, Chris had gotten Piers's name tattooed on his inner right forearm in large script that took over most of the space. On the nights that he couldn't sleep, he'd pump himself full of sleeping pills and stroke the lines of Piers's name, hoping that he'd never wake up, hoping that they could finally be together again. How easy it would be to just walk away from Claire and step into the busy traffic...

"Don't you even _think_ about it," Claire hissed, seeing the look on Chris's face. "There are still people here who love you. I still need you. Jill still needs you."

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Claire."

"So are you."

"I don't... I don't even... Claire, I don't even know who I am anymore."

She leaned into her brother and gave him a one-armed hug. Her attention was diverted to the other side of the street as they made their way through the unfamiliar little park. Children screeched at each other and played on the jungle gym while parents called out to them to be careful. They were passed by a couple of joggers, bundled up against the chill. It all seemed like white noise to Claire as she watched the restaurant across the street. Even Chris may as well have been on the moon. The bright red awning above the little cafe said "Fireside Bistro". Her heart stopped in her chest, and her step actually faltered.

Claire had given up on that email weeks ago, and had chalked it up to some stupid joke, but here was Fireside, right in front of her face. It could still be a prank, though...

"Claire? What's up?" Chris looked across the street, trying to find what had distracted Claire so much.

God, she hated lying to Chris, but she wouldn't dare bring up Umbrella to him, not in his current condition. And, what if it was nothing? Jake Muller's rare visits already brought up so many ugly memories of Wesker for Chris... she couldn't do that to him. Not now. "Oh... just saw a guy that I thought was Leon."

"You can do better than him."

"Really? That's funny, considering he's basically you." Claire continued walking, mentally filing away Fireside's location for later.

"We're nothing alike. He's a wisecracking douche, and I'm..."

"Boring?" Claire finished.

"He said that?"

"You don't think he's a douche. You're just being protective."

"Of course I am. And I kind of like the idea of you moping over your lost love along with me."

Claire frowned in an exaggerated manner. They walked the rest of the way to the hospital in silence, Claire's mind wandering to the Fireside Bistro.

"I'm going to wait out here for you, okay?" Claire said when they arrived. "The hospital smells weird."

"That's the smell of despair," Chris said, kissing Claire on the cheek. He looked down at her with such intensity that it nearly frightened her. "I love you, Claire. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, of course I do." She looked at him in confusion. "I love you, too."

He smiled sadly, so sadly. He waved and disappeared inside. Claire had spoken the truth about the hospital smelling strangely, but she more wanted to collect her thoughts about that email. Obviously, someone wanted to meet her at the Fireside Bistro regarding something related to Umbrella. Her first instinct was to call Leon about it, but he would probably tell Chris, and she hadn't even seen him since Chris had tried to kill himself. He'd sent a brief text. He was probably off somewhere having sex with Ada Wong.

Claire cursed herself under her breath for her stupid crush, and pulled out her phone. She texted Sherry about meeting her for supper at the Fireside. May as well check out the seating in the place. It had looked like a fairly nice place, so at least she'd get a nice meal out of it. She checked their menu online to make sure they had vegan alternatives. She then did something reckless, and sent an email to Jill. There was the risk that Jill would tell Chris, but she figured that she could use some badass backup if this thing proved to be legit. God, she hoped it was just a prank. Not just for Chris's sake, but for all of their sakes.

* * *

"Are you ready to talk about Piers today?"

Chris sighed. Dr. Nagra asked him that every session.

"I take that as a no."

"It hurts too much." Chris stroked his forearm where the tattoo hid under his jacket. He hadn't taken it off because the hospital was a little drafty, and sometimes his anxiety left him feeling chilled. Like today. "He's been gone for six months. I thought the pain would dull at least a little, but it gets worse every day."

Dr. Nagra said nothing. It was rare that Chris talked about Piers Nivans, so she wanted to allow him to speak. He needed to talk about him. He needed to let it out. He needed to mourn or he'd never move on.

"After Albert betrayed me, I thought that I'd never move on, that I'd never be able to trust another man again, and then Piers came along. I wanted him right from the start, and then the next thing I knew, I was hopelessly in love with him." He was silent for a while, but Dr. Nagra didn't interrupt. "And then I forgot him." Chris's breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed against the tide of panic in him, the deep well of sadness.

"He loved you. People don't make that kind of sacrifice for just anyone. Even in the army."

"I should have been the one to stay behind. How dare he fucking think that his life was worth less than mine. I fucking _forgot_ him! I had no right to such a gift."

"He thought you did. And it was his choice. And now it's your choice how you want to use that gift he gave you." She paused. "You haven't mentioned Albert before. You're referring to Albert Wesker, aren't you?"

"How much is in my file?"

"That you killed him. You did the world a favor. He would have killed a lot more innocent people than he already had."

"We were lovers. I thought I was in love with him, and he betrayed me utterly and completely." Chris smirked. "I spent so much time thinking I was in love with Albert Wesker, but now..."

"You don't feel that anymore?"

"The betrayal is still hard to accept," admitted Chris. "And part of me will always desire him, but after I met Piers, I knew that I hadn't really loved him, and even if I did, it wasn't... it wasn't real."

"It sounds like Piers gave you another gift, then."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

"Healing often doesn't feel good. So, did you take my advice and think about what you want to do from this point forward?" She checked her notepad. "You had mentioned going to the adult learning center about taking a night class."

"Yeah, I went. I took a glass blowing class."

"Really? That's very interesting."

He shrugged, folding his arms because his hands were starting to shake. He found that coupled with his anxiety and panic issues, he was starting to feel agoraphobic at times. He just wanted to be back in the safety of his apartment in his pajamas, huddled under his quilt with Maggie curled up on his chest. "Can't really make a life out of that."

"Sure you could. Glassware is quite collectible. Things like stained glass windows and lampshades sell for a lot of money. And, you're doing what I've pointed out before. You're selling yourself short. It's why you came to me in the first place, remember? You diminish yourself. Be proud."

"Of what? Actually showering and going to a night class?"

"Yes. Mental illness cripples so much of life for those that suffer with it. Even small steps are big accomplishments. As you haven't dealt with the notion your whole life, you haven't yet gotten used to the idea of thinking of yourself as having mental illness. But, you aren't alone. There are a lot of people who have anxiety and depression issues."

Chris said nothing. It was true that he didn't think of himself as having mental illness. He just thought of himself as irreversibly broken. It wasn't even the lack of Piers in the world, not completely. He just felt like he'd given everything he'd ever have to give in life, and now there was nothing left. Each heartbeat crushed down on him like an avalanche. Each step ripped him apart like a tornado. Bioterrorism would never stop. People would never stop killing each other. The pain of losing Piers, of forgetting him and spitting in the face of what few precious moments of love they'd shared together, it would never heal. It would never scar over. It would bleed like a festering, rotting wound forever.

"I need to go take a clonazepam," Chris murmured, standing up from his chair.

"Okay." Dr. Nagra watched Chris shuffle to the bathroom in her office, and when the door clicked shut, she started checking her watch. She'd been doing this long enough that she knew a suicidal patient when she saw one. She wanted to give Chris the benefit of the doubt, because accusing him of wanting to try to kill himself may halt what small progress he was trying to make. She would give him three minutes, and then go in after him.

After two minutes she heard a crash, and rushed to the bathroom. She tried the door, but he'd locked it behind him. "Chris!" she called. "Chris!" She tried to shoulder-check the door open, but she was a middle-aged, small boned woman, so it did no good. She rapidly pressed on the panic button that she wore around her neck, as per hospital policy. It was meant to protect her in case one of her patients became aggressive or violent. She hadn't thought she'd ever have to use it as far as Chris Redfield was concerned.

"Break the door down!" Dr. Nagra shouted at the security guards when they rushed into her office. "He's trying to kill himself!" As the burly guards slammed into the door, she stuck her head out to the reception area that she shared with several other psychiatrists. "Get a crash cart and paramedics in here for a suicide attempt!" she screamed at the wide-eyed receptionist who stood in shock behind the desk. Her Indian accent had thickened dramatically with her stress. "Go, dammit!"

When she got back into the office, the security guards had been successful in breaking the door down, and now they were rolling Chris on his side. He was vomiting and foaming at the mouth. "What did you swallow?!" one of them was shouting at him. The other looked around the small bathroom, trying to find what Chris had used in this suicide attempt.

"There!" Dr. Nagra exclaimed, pointing behind the toilet to a pop bottle that had rolled there. He must have been carrying it in his coat.

The security guard picked it up and sniffed at it. He then put his finger in and felt the contents, bringing it up to his nose and mouth.

"Coming through!" one of the paramedics called. They pushed Dr. Nagra's coffee table out of the way to make room for the crash cart and stretcher.

"He swallowed antifreeze," the security guard called.

"Make room!"

Dr. Nagra wound up being pushed out into the reception area, her eyes filling with tears. This wasn't the first time this kind of thing had happened to her, but it didn't make it any easier. She composed herself, and gently nudged the frozen receptionist out of the way. She pulled up Chris's file, and found his sister's phone number.

Outside, Claire was reading the email reply she'd already gotten from Jill. The other woman said that she was flying back as soon as possible, and to not do anything about the message until she got Stateside. The screen changed when the phone rang, and she saw that the very hospital that she sat outside was calling her.

"Hello...?" she asked, confused. Maybe Chris was trying to reach her...

"Is this Claire Redfield?" a frazzled sounding woman asked.

"Yes? Who is this?"

"This is Dr. Lakshmi Nagra. I'm your brother's psychiatrist. You should come to the emergency room as soon as you can."

"What happened?" Claire demanded, bolting to her feet from the bench she'd been sitting on. "...he tried to kill himself, didn't he?" The way he'd said 'I love you' had haunted Claire. He'd actually been saying goodbye. "God damn you, Chris."

"Please hurry."

Claire pocketed her phone, running as fast as she could to the emergency room entrance. Fury that Chris would try to leave her again filled her. If he lived, she was going to kill him...

* * *

_Claire,_

_Please take care of Maggie for me. I left her a lot of food and water, but she'll need to find another place to live. Maybe you could take her in? I know you already have two cats, but she'd definitely be going to a loving home._

_I'm sorry that I couldn't be stronger for you, and I couldn't make it far enough to see you save the world. I'm proud of you._

_Love forever,_

_Chris_

* * *

"Chris... can you hear me? Get a doctor, I think he's waking up."

Chris's eyes fluttered open, and he had to slam them shut against the harsh light. He vaguely heard Jill's voice calling for him. His throat constricted around the tube that was jammed down it, and tears filled his eyes. The rush of his own blood in his ears with each beat of his still living heart ached. God, it ached. Why was he still fucking alive?!

_You can't even get a suicide attempt right, my pet. You're zero and two now. It would be very amusing if it weren't so very pathetic._

He reached up to try and claw at the tubes that were up his nose and down his throat. He struggled and screamed incoherently around the tube as he felt his arms being pulled down and held against the bed. He started bucking and struggling, tears flowing down his cheeks like a waterfall as he made angry, incomprehensible noises.

_Just let me fucking die!_

_I'm sorry. Your parents are gone, Chris._

_Come on, my pet. Come burn with me._

_Captain... do you hear yourself?_

_You had to do it. Barry was already gone..._

As he struggled, he felt a jab in his arm, and then everything became white and heavy, fading away...

_Buy me a steak, and I'll do anything you want, my love..._

* * *

Claire looked up from stroking Maggie's fur as the door to Chris's apartment opened. She saw Jill through the blur of tears, and snuffled, wiping them away. "I had to feed his cat," she said, voice wobbling as she tried to compose herself.

"The recent blood tests came back an hour or so ago. Looks like there won't be any real long term effects from the antifreeze. They caught it so early, but they'll keep an eye on his kidneys since he did drink so much of it."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there today, I just..."

"I know." Jill sat on the couch beside the younger woman. "It's hard."

"I wonder if we're really doing him a favor, or if we should just let him go."

Jill patted the cat's head, then took one of Claire's hands in her own. "I'm not giving up on him."

Sherry came out from the bathroom, nodding to Jill. "We should get going. Claire... are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yeah," Jill echoed. "I could go check it out."

"No, I want to." Claire put the cat on the couch beside her and rose to her feet. "Even if it's a prank... I need to know."

"All right." Jill went to her duffel bag and pulled out her Glock handgun, putting it in her holster. She then put on her silver, fur trimmed parka, checking that the weapon was concealed. Winter was great for hiding weapons, but the added layers of clothing also caused the problem of trying to reach them quickly. She checked that she could easily access the gun, then slipped a knife into one sleeve. "You need one?" she asked of Sherry.

The blonde shook her head, pulling out her gun to check the magazine. "I don't like this. Feels too much like a trap."

"I know," Jill answered, handing Claire a gun.

Claire looked at the gun in her hands. It had been a long time since she'd held a gun. She'd hoped that she wouldn't have to use one again. They prepared and left in complete silence. There wasn't really much to say that hadn't already been said.

"So, is this person going to come up to us, or just put bullets in our heads from a distance?" Jill asked as she found a booth where they were against the wall, facing the rest of the bistro.

"Please don't joke about that." Sherry had sat herself in the middle, putting Claire against the wall. Jill took the aisle. She checked her watch. "10:30, right?"

"Three coffees," Jill ordered quickly when the waitress came over, wanting to get her out of the way so she could keep her eyes on the door.

"I don't mean to generalize," Sherry whispered. "But, I think that this really nervous looking guy may be the one we're looking for."

Jill crossed her arms in a seemingly casual posture, but her left hand was now on the butt of her gun, and her right hand had the knife hilt held tightly. Her eyes followed the slender, middle aged man who seemed to jump at every motion in the room, every clink of silverware.

"Jesus, if this guy's armed, he'll shoot the whole place up at the drop of a hat," Jill muttered to Sherry out of the corner of her mouth. She was immediately thinking of Sherry as her wingwoman in this situation. They both wanted to instantly protect Claire for Chris's sake.

"Claire Redfield?" the man peeped, slinking down into his seat nervously. His voice barely carried over the top of his grey woolen scarf. "I... I was really hoping to speak with your brother."

"He's unavailable right now," Claire said, her voice surprisingly strong.

"Oh... yes, of course. My apologies. I'm very sorry to meet you under such clandestine circumstances..." he glanced at Sherry and Jill, his eyes lingering on Sherry for a beat longer. He was attractive in a mousy sort of way, and there was something about his wan complexion and hunched over shoulders that reminded her of her father. "But it is extremely important."

"From your email, you made it sound like it was about..."

"Yes, about UPI's stock potential," the man interjected before Claire could finish as the waitress brought over the coffees. He nodded when she offered him one, and practically vibrated his chair with nerves until she left again. "I must be careful... my boss does not know I'm here, and I'm putting my life in danger simply by meeting you here."

"Maybe you could start by telling us your name?" Jill asked, fingers tightening around her gun.

"I'm Dr. Alexander Leary, and... I can't keep silent anymore. My boss is..." he sighed and peeked over his shoulder, obviously terrified.

"Dr. Leary..." Sherry trailed off. "I know that name."

"Me, too." Jill's pale eyes narrowed dangerously within the shadow of her baseball cap's brim. "You're currently doing research into cell regeneration to help with paralysis and amputation."

"Yes," Dr. Leary whispered. "Our research was coming along better than I could have ever dreamed... that is, until I found out _why_ it was going so fantastically." He wrapped his shaking hands around his mug, dark eyes looking to Claire pleadingly, imploringly. "My lab's test results are being skewed by research done at our parent lab by my boss." He reached into his coat.

"Stop right there," Jill hissed through clenched teeth. "I have a gun pointed at your genitals right now. You better move _very_ slowly, doc."

"I am pulling out my cell phone." Dr. Leary moved very carefully, putting his iPhone on the tabletop. He then pressed his palms on each side until Jill slowly nodded and pulled her finger away from the trigger. She did not, however, re-holster the gun.

"At first, I wanted to ignore it. The research was going so well, and it could help so many other people. Miss Birkin, I'm sure your father felt the same way with the G-Virus before things went horribly wrong."

"You know my father?" Sherry asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Dr. Leary's face paled. He was definitely afraid. "Dr. Birkin and... my employer..." he swallowed, as if saying his boss's name would invoke some terrible event.

"What, do you work for Voldemort or something?" Jill asked impatiently.

"He and Dr. Birkin had a mutual acquaintance."

"You're talking about Albert Wesker, aren't you?"

Dr. Leary nodded jerkily, slumping further in the booth. "Your brother did the world a service by killing Albert Wesker, but..." he then scrubbed his face. "He also may have just unleashed another kind of monster, one that's even more savage. Even more evil."

"More evil than Wesker?" Jill asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe."

"Dr. Wesker may have been a tyrant... in every sense of the word, but he had control of himself. And, he was the only person who had control over my employer." Dr. Leary reached for his phone and turned the screen on. He began thumbing through screens until he found the pictures folder. "Now that Wesker's gone... it's like he released a pedophile into a daycare." Dr. Leary slid the phone over to Claire, a few tears slowly trickling down his cheeks. "And... I believe you know him, Miss Redfield."

Claire took the phone slowly, knowing what she was going to see, but not wanting to see it. She took a brief look at the first picture and closed her eyes, a wave of guilt and pain washing through her. She allowed it to pass before looking at the picture again. The photo was grainy and the background was blurry because the photo had obviously been taken in a hurry, but the lighting was harsh and showed an older, but familiar face to her. His auburn hair hung into red eyes that stared intently at a computer screen, green vein marks and what appeared to be scales creeping up his neck from within his shirt.

"Steve Burnside had been under Wesker's tutelage for a decade. Miss Birkin, the virus within you molded to your human DNA, becoming human. With Burnside... the T-Veronica took him over, poisoning him, so now he's a monster in a human body. He is the worst kind of sadistic monster, and the tests he's been doing... the outbreaks in China have old accelerated his research."

"What kind of research?" Sherry asked, uncomfortable. Her G-Virus enhanced blood was always a sore spot with her. She'd come to accept it as part of herself, but when she thought of Wesker, who'd given himself over the dark lure of the T-Virus, and now of Steve Burnside, a young man she'd never known but Claire had spoken of often... well, sometimes she wondered what would happen if she'd given into the darkness inside her.

"That, I do not know. He keeps his work very secretive, and isn't the kind to take questions well. One of my assistants got curious, and..." Dr. Leary pursed his lips. "She suffered. In unimaginable ways. Believe me, Miss Birkin. I have very, _very_ good reasons to be afraid of betraying him."

Claire looked at a picture of Steve that must have come from some sort of ID badge. He was staring straight at the camera, and even through the photo of a photo, she felt his red gaze burning her, his mind twisted and mutilated into something savage, something so purely evil that it could only come from a human being. The next picture afterwards caused Claire to turn the phone upside down so she wouldn't have to see anymore. All she'd gotten was the impression of gore and limbs, Steve Burnside standing in the middle of it like he was at home.

"And... what do you think I can do."

"That's why I wanted to get in contact with your brother, Miss Redfield. And... you as well, Ms. Valentine."

"_Captain_ Valentine," she corrected tersely.

"My apologies," he said quickly, as if it was second nature for him to beg forgiveness as soon as someone flashed ire in his direction. "I need Chris Redfield because I need him to come kill a monster."

* * *

"Man, my hand is cramping. I think we'll take a break," Steve Burnside said jovially over the screaming. He dropped a pair of curves scissors as scarp as scalpels into a bloodied surgical tray.

He wiped his hands off on a nearby towel, but there was still gore coating his scaled, almost crocodile like skin and his hard, shiny black nails that were more like talons than anything human. He sat on a stool, rotating his head to crack his neck, licking his lips and tasting a fleck of C-Virus infested blood. As the days went by, the sharp tang the disease brought to it faded, leaving the humanity behind. This worried Steve, since he need more time... he wasn't ready yet.

"Okay, back to the crossword." He pulled over the newspaper and went back to the half-finished puzzle he'd been working on. "Hmm... 'Gabarone's country... 8 letters. The second to last letter is N." He tapped the pen to his chin. "Come on, you're a smart cookie. Gimme a clue."

The only response he got was a high-pitched wail.

"Oh, come on! It does not hurt. We've done this dozens of times." He filled in a few words around the clue. "You figure you'd be fucking used to it by now," he added as a quiet aside. "Ah! Botswana." He frowned at the weeping from the operating table. "Okay, okay. We may as well finish."

Steve bowed over the table, picking up the surgical scissors again, cutting into flesh to expose the wet, red muscle. "Stop squirming, or I'll take the whole arm again." He expertly cut through the layers of skin, gently pulling it away from the muscle. He was now cutting the sinews and pulling it back from the body from the shoulder to the wrist. He hummed along with a song that had been stuck in his head for a couple days, the screaming just background noise to him now.

"Excellent," he murmured with a gentle sensuality that should have only been reserved for a bedroom. He pulled away the skin, which still retained the shape of the arm it had been removed from. He gently folded it up and put it in a cooler packed with dry ice. "I know it's going to work this time." He then turned back to his test subject. "Okay, back in the tank."

The man on the table bucked and jerked away, eyes showing white entirely around the edges, like a spooked horse. His struggling was only awarded with a hard slap in the face, Steve Burnside's claw-like nails cutting into his cheek, mixing blood with his tears.

"You're going back in that tank, you little cunt. One way or another. And you know how creative I can get when it's 'another', right?" He leaned forward, licking up the side of his subject's face, loving the taste of his tears. They tasted like fear. Like submission.

"Okay," he whimpered through a sensation that was so far beyond pain, there was no word to describe it. "Okay. Tank... tank."

"Good boy. Although... I haven't made you eat broken glass in months. I'm a little disappointed." Steve picked up his victim gently, almost lovingly. He was smaller, but the T-Veronica virus had made him ten times stronger than a normal human. He'd even been stronger physically than Wesker. The test subject whimpered as the regenerating flesh on his back stretched and tore open from the handling. "Help me," he whispered incoherently, not aware of his surroundings anymore. "Help me. Please, Captain. Help me. Chris..." His voice was muffled when the respirator was put over his nose and mouth to help him breathe in the water.

"Okay, here we are." Steve stopped in front of the tank. After gently carrying the body, he unceremoniously dropped it in the water. "And, Chris ain't fucking coming. He's locked in a loony bin." Steve laughed and closed the lid to the tank, flipping on the switches to begin the tank's stimulants that would electrify the water, and work with the higher than normal impulses the C-Virus had given the other man's body. He then flipped out the lights as excruciating, painful waves of 600 volt electricity pumped into the water, kicking off the regenerative process.

"Have a good night, Piers!" Steve called as he picked up the cooler, which contained precious cargo. "I'll be back tomorrow." He waved over his shoulder. "I promise."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_"No home, I don't want shelter_

_No calm, nothing to keep me from the storm..."_

* * *

_"So... _this_ is the famous Jill Valentine, huh?" Steve peered into the tank that held one of the few survivors of Raccoon City. "Thought she'd be hotter. But, I guess that she survived a Nemesis, so deserves a little respect. Only a little." He tapped on the glass. "Too bad it's not that Redfield cunt in here."_

_"You're annoying me."_

_"You always get annoyed when I mention Chris Redfield. Shit, you get annoyed at everything. Ever," Steve teased, sliding his hard, scaled arms around Albert Wesker's shoulders from behind._

_"I'm busy. You should go play with that fucktoy of yours."_

_"You can't ride a fucktoy too hard. You need to allow them to heal before you torture them again."_

_Wesker's golden eyebrow rose over the rim of his sunglasses. "Describing yourself?"_

_Steve's hands moved up and wrapped around Wesker's throat, hard nails digging into the skin nearly hard enough to break the surface. "Well, that would be true if I couldn't snap your neck like a twig."_

_Wesker shrugged Steve's hands away. "I have work to do."_

_"Whatever." Steve threw up his hands and went back to the tank. He knew that Wesker was in 'avoidance' mode. Steve's enhanced senses picked up on it, the same way they did whenever Chris Redfield's name was mentioned. Because of the T-Veronica virus molding his DNA, Steve was now incapable of feeling love in the human sense of the word. However, he did feel a deep loyalty to his mentor, whom he saw as a saviour from the horrors of the ordinary humanity he'd been suffering through before his transformation. And he hated this weakness in his mentor brought on by Chris Redfield. The slight increase in breathing and heart rate, the change in pheromone release._

_Steve was quite certain that Albert Wesker was also incapable of love, though they did sometimes have sex together to release tension, at least on Wesker's part. Steve was self-aware enough to know that he'd become a sexual sadist through and through, so the normal act of sex did not arouse him. He allowed Wesker to fuck him on those rare occasions out of a sense of loyalty. Besides, Wesker was quite good at it, but it bothered Steve sometimes because he knew that the older man was thinking about Chris Redfield. Did he think of Chris Redfield when he let that Italian Tricell slut suck his dick? God, it was such weakness. It didn't become their evolved status, and he wanted to fix it._

_'I'd end him,' Steve silently said to himself as he went back to watching Jill in her water-filled prison. 'Wesker would thank me in the end...'_

* * *

"Chris...?" Sherry called, knocking on the open doorframe.

"Hi," he said dully, looking up from the television. He'd spent all morning watching old episodes of _The Golden Girls_, falling asleep in the middle of pretty much all of them. His heart constricted when he saw Claire hovering behind the blonde. She'd been distant with him since he'd tried to kill himself again. He couldn't even do suicide right, and now he'd fucked up his relationship with his only living relative.

"How are you?" Sherry greeted cheerfully, bowing forward to kiss him on the top of the head. "You look a little more rested than last time." Sherry never told him that he looked 'better', because she thought it might make him sad. "Hey! Um, how come your nails are silver?"

"Mrs. Connolly did it. She's the one next door with dementia."

"She painted your nails? Pretty in style for an old lady," Sherry commented, examining the metallic paint.

"It made her happy. What do I care? Are people going to think I'm gay?"

Claire pursed her lips, wanting to cry. "Even in a hospital, you go out of your way to make people happy." She put her arms around his shoulders, trying to ignore how thin they felt compared to how he used to be, and buried her face in his hair. She was afraid to say goodbye to him, because he might not be alive when she got back.

"You ready for your trip?" Chris asked. He seemed interested, but there was a dullness in his eyes that suggested he was medicated.

"Yep!" Sherry exclaimed, full of mock cheerfulness. She knew how hard this was for Claire, to leave Chris at a time like this. Hell, she was afraid, too. But it was necessary. And it was also necessary to lie, because Chris would refuse to allow Claire to go check out Dr. Leary's information, and he'd probably also insist on coming, and that was out of the question in his current state. "Girls week in South Beach."

"I'm not going to see any topless pictures of you on Facebook, am I?"

"No promises," Jill said over her shoulder from where she sat on the bed.

"I wasn't talking about you. I've seen yours more times than I've ever wanted." Their professions as cops then soldiers, along with their complete platonic closeness to each other, had led to them seeing each other naked many times.

"As if I wanted to get an eyeful of your penis." She was looking through the book selection on the e-reader that Claire had bought her brother as a gift to help fill his time. "Do you know how long it's been since I had sex? I'm going to be a total slut." She groaned. "Please Chris, tell me Claire put this selection of books on here. _Twilight_? Isn't Chris suicidal enough already, Claire?"

"Okay, time to leave!" Claire exclaimed, cheeks flushing.

"Don't worry about me," Chris demanded, gripping Claire's wrist. "I'm..." he stopped himself from saying 'fine', because it was wrong. "I'm still alive."

She kissed the top of his head and left before she could either start crying, or break down and just blurt out the whole truth to him.

"And you better still be when I get back," Jill murmured when it was just the two of them. She picked up Chris's hand and brought it up to her chest, just above the center of her bosom. Though she was wearing a coat and sweater, they both knew the circular shape of scars that were there from the implant Wesker had put on her to control her thoughts. "We're both survivors. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, waving over her shoulder as she left. Chris sat there in the quiet, empty room, knowing that Jill was a survivor and always would be. He didn't know that about himself anymore. Everyone always thought of Chris as some legend, some superhuman being who could survive anything that Umbrella threw at him. Maybe that had been true. But to survive, he'd had to give everything. Everything had been taken away from him. That Chris Redfield had died, either by bleeding out on the concrete in an Edonian lab basement, or by succumbing to antifreeze poisoning. Not only did this new empty corpse that sat in his place have to mourn Piers Nivans, but he had to mourn Chris Redfield, too. He just didn't know how to survive doing that...

* * *

"I can't believe we were here the whole time," Rebecca said, shaking her head. She jumped down, skipping the last few rungs on the ladder, and landed with a light thud in the concrete hallway underneath the Edonia lab. She briefly caught a glimpse of the old bloodstain on the floor where Chris had almost bled to death, and quickly looked away.

"Maybe the one carrying all the grenades shouldn't be the one jumping down the ladder, hmm?" Jill said, giving Rebecca a beady eye. Rebecca had been in Edonia, and after their meeting in Chicago with Dr. Leary, Jill had contacted her about looking into the T-Veronica samples that the BSAA had in cold storage. Rebecca was by far the smartest of them when it came to genetics and disease properties, and her medical abilities would be a huge help on the mission.

"They'll be harmless to us," Rebecca assured. She gnawed on her lip worriedly as the four ladies stood in front of the steel door that Chris's security card had been unable to open when they were last here. Dr. Leary had given them the correct card, but it wasn't exactly a pleasant task that they were being asked to accomplish. After all, if Steve Burnside really was strong enough to bench press a truck and a sexual sadist to boot, it wasn't going to be easy. "I just hope they work."

"Hope they work...?" Sherry echoed, giving Rebecca an incredulous gaze. Though Rebecca was quite a few years older than her, Sherry was glad that she was no longer the only one that looked like a little kid among the group. Jill was very badass and intimidating, as was Claire when she got into this kind of mindset – she _was_ a Redfield, after all. Sherry always felt a little out of place, even with all her training and her G-Virus enhanced blood. "Hey... will they affect me?"

"No." Rebecca patted Sherry's shoulder. The two women had only met the previous day, but had become fast friends. "The grenades are T-Veronica based. It's actually a very different disease than the G-Virus at its core. I mean, they have the same awful side effects, but the disease composition isn't anything alike. I just hope that the T-Veronica in Steve's blood hasn't mutated radically from what we had in storage. I mean... it was old, and it came from a different subject."

Rebecca had created a whole bag full of anti-BOW gas grenades. The grenades would release a gas that weakened any creatures whose blood composition was based off the T-Veronica. It would weaken Steve Burnside enough that a human being would actually stand a chance against him. In theory, at least. Rebecca was concerned that Steve's blood was quite different from Alexia Ashford, the original subject. When Chris had killed her in Antarctica, the BSAA had taken her corpse and pulled samples from her blood to work on an anti-virus. If these grenades didn't work... well, she knew that every one of them had faced down the baddest of the bad before, but survival was never a sure thing.

"Ready?" Claire asked, gun raised up in a ready position. She and Sherry were flanking Jill, who was going to run point and be the one to open the door. Now that Claire had a gun in her hand again, and was in this sort of situation, all her survival instincts came back to her, and it felt as natural as breathing, which frightened her.

Jill squared her shoulders and swiped the card, briefly wondering if this was all some big trap that Dr. Leary was ready to spring on them. When the card reader flashed green, Sherry nodded and pulled the door open.

"Clear," Jill murmured after a few long, silent, tense moments. She shined her flashlight down the staircase, but it kept descending into blackness, too far down for light to penetrate. "Need some more light, though."

"Got it." Claire turned on her flashlight and shined it down along with Jill's beam. Even the combined light didn't show them the bottom of the stairs.

"Lights on, and watch your spacing." Jill went down first, Claire behind her. Sherry ushered Rebecca ahead of her. It would do no good to have their medic and the one carrying the anti-BOW grenades to get ambushed at the back of the line. Besides, Sherry's G-Virus infused blood gave her the best night vision of the group, so she could keep a good eye on their rear.

They silently moved down the long staircase that seemed endless. Each step downward made their hearts beat a little faster, put their nerves more on edge. Each beat of their heart and each breath made them wonder if someone else was in the darkness with them, watching and waiting.

"Stop..." Jill whispered, slowing her descent. She heard a couple sharp intakes of breath, the sound of her voice startling the other women. "There's a door down here." She took the last dozen steps alone, pressing her ear to the door. It was thick, so impossible to tell what was on the other side. She gestured for the others to come down.

"There's another card reader here."

"This stairwell could have night vision cameras. Someone probably knows we're here," Sherry whispered, keeping her gun trained up the stairs.

"Let's just hope it's Dr. Leary then." Jill held her breath and swiped the card. The reader flashed green, and Claire slowly opened the door. Jill went in first, quickly pointing her gun to the left, then to the right.

"Miss Valentine!" A voice hissed, echoing in the empty hallway to the right.

She immediately crouched down, pointing her gun towards the sound. A pair of hands peeked out from around the corner of the hallway. "It's Dr. Leary!" he called.

"Step out slowly," Rebecca called, now also in the hallway.

Dr. Leary did so, with a visible limp. He slowly moved towards them, wincing as he moved, in obvious distress. As he got closer, Rebecca lowered her gun, noticing a raw looking red welt wrapping around his throat. The imprint of chain links was bruising into his skin. "Dr. Leary, what happened?" she went to him to examine the painful looking mark. Jill, Claire and Sherry did not lower their weapons.

"Steve Burnside happened to me," he murmured, craning away from Rebecca's touch. "My latest punishment."

"At least let me bandage you up," Rebecca said, reaching into her first aid pack.

"Never mind that. We must hurry. We don't have much time. I could only bypass security for 25 minutes once I saw you come to the upper entrance." He gestured stiffly. "Follow me, ladies. I'll take you to where he is."

"How many other people are working here?" Claire asked, concerned about collateral damage, or an outbreak.

"About 100." Dr. Leary ushered them to a pair of shiny steel elevator doors. He used an ID badge on the chip swipe, and the elevator silently opened to them. "They're on a different level, though. _He_ has his own lab on a separate floor. He wants to keep the human filth away from his research. His words."

"Have you found out anything about his research?" Sherry asked as the elevator doors slid shut and they started to descend. Her shoulder was pressed against Jill's, and she felt the other woman stiffen at now being essentially trapped, going down into the unknown.

"That's how I got these injuries," Dr. Leary said quietly, head bowed. He nervously started fiddling with a fountain pen that had been in his pocket. "I tried. I apologize..." He shook his head, noticing the grenades strapped to Rebecca's hips, and the large bag she carried. "You brought explosives? We're deep underground, so you should be careful where you set them off." The pen slipped out of his nervous fingers and clattered against the shiny tiles of the elevator floor. Rather than pick it up, he became very still, as if he was holding his breath, too afraid to move even minutely.

"They're anti-BOW gas grenades. They don't cause any structural damage."

Dr. Leary nodded, his body still stiff.

Jill's eyes narrowed. The sliding downward motion of the elevator seemed to suddenly be affecting her. She could acutely feel the world moving around her. Her head also started feeling heavier and heavier. She tried to look over at Dr. Leary and her companions, but her body didn't want to respond to mental commands. Something was horribly wrong.

She tried to say something, but her tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of her mouth. There was suddenly a loud thud, and Jill could see Sherry collapsing beside her, everything looking wavy and strange in her dimming vision. Another thud echoed in the elevator as Claire passed out.

Jill desperately made her body turn around as she tried to fumble with her gun. But, her body just didn't want to move. She tried to open her mouth to call for help, but her body finally gave out and she fell to the floor, blackness rising up to meet her.

* * *

_Piers lay in bed, his whole body still thrumming with the excitement of finally meeting Chris Redfield. He'd been waiting for this day since he'd heard the name Chris Redfield, when he'd been researching Raccoon City. Captain Redfield had come to introduce himself and welcome Piers to Alpha Team. Being named to Chris's team was a dream come true for Piers. The other man was the reason he'd joined the BSAA. Chris had fought and defeated some of the worst monsters in the world, but he didn't do it for the glory, or for the love of battle. He did it to protect people. He did it out of love for the good in the world. Piers wanted to work with him to make a difference in the world. He wanted to earn Captain Redfield's respect. Piers wanted to be just like him. And, Piers was hopelessly enamoured with him._

_Before meeting Captain Redfield, he'd been worried that there was no way a human man could live up to all that Piers had built him up to be in his own mind. He'd been terrified of his bubble being burst. As he now relived every moment of his first meeting with Captain Redfield, Piers's fingers slowly moved down his throat and over his collarbone. They were the same fingers that had touched Chris when they'd shaken hands. He bit his lip as he imagined they were Captain Redfield's strong fingers, slowly exploring the sensitive areas where his skin pulled taut over his collarbone, and met the center of his throat. His body arched instinctively, his skin rising in gooseflesh._

_"It's nice to finally meet you," Chris had said. "I've heard a lot of good things about you, Nivans."_

_"Just Piers is fine," he'd replied, wondering how his voice had even worked. "It's an honor to finally meet you, Captain Redfield." He'd known that he was blushing. He'd felt the heat immediately fill his cheeks when he'd been able to finally meet Chris Redfield's gaze. He'd always been attracted to older men, and Chris was so gorgeous. He was even more beautiful in person, and he smelled so good. He smelled like a mixture of mint and grapefruit that should have been feminine, but wasn't. That, combined with the pure gentleness and kindness in Chris's eyes made Piers feel a little dizzy._

_He thought of that grapefruit smell engrained in Chris's skin as his fingers moved downward, brushing over his hardened nipple. The memory of the smell of Chris Redfield made his mouth water as he imagined it was the Captain's tongue skirting over the sensitive nub, rather than his own touch. He imagined how Chris's stubble would feel scraping against his skin as his mouth would slide lower and lower... _

_His own hand mirrored the fantasy, and he shakily took in his breath as his hand wrapped around the base of his now achingly hard cock. He arched his hips against his hand, legs spreading involuntarily as he lost himself completely in his masturbatory fantasy. He imagined the feel of Chris's hands, so strong and firm, stroking his thighs and pushing them open wider. Strong and determined, but never forceful. Always gentle. Never selfish. He'd be patient and take his time in preparing Piers's rectum for penetration. Even if Piers didn't want him to. Chris would look into his eyes the whole time, that spark passing between them like it had in that first fateful moment they'd met._

_Piers had held Chris's gaze, not hiding his admiration and desire for the other man. His desire had only intensified when he saw interest in Chris's eyes. His entire insides had squirmed and writhed, and he'd just wanted to scream 'fuck me. God, own me. I'll do anything you ask as long as you fuck me', instead of just standing there, hand still holding Chris's in a handshake._

_"It will be an honor to be under you," Piers had said boldly. The urge to flirt so shamelessly had come over him intensely, and he'd been unable to help himself._

_Chris's wonderful, soulful eyes had briefly darkened with masculine lust, and he'd smiled widely, letting out a quiet laugh._

_That smile and that laugh, that had lit up Chris's face and made him the most beautiful thing in the world was what brought Piers over the edge. He ejaculated into his hand, panting like he'd just run a marathon. He lay there, sweaty with semen splattered on his hand and belly, not wanting to clean himself off yet. He just wanted to bask in the memory of Chris's smile. He'd do anything to see that smile again. In that one second, he'd gone from being hopelessly enamoured to being hopelessly in love..._

Piers gasped, eyes snapping open as his lungs began to ache. His waking dream, for he hadn't really actually slept since being brought to this hellhole, was interrupted by the inability to breathe. He reached up in his watery prison to grasp at the face mask, but it had stopped working. It was no longer pumping oxygen for him to breathe. The electrical pulses had also stopped, but Piers's body was too busy burning with the urge to breathe to relish in the lack of pain.

He looked through the water and the glass into the lab that had been his horrible home and torture chamber, but the lights were off. If Steve Burnside were in the room, and this was some new kind of torture, Piers couldn't see him. It was getting harder for him to sense when Steve was around. He knew that was because the C-Virus in his blood was being molded to his human DNA. His humanity was winning, which would be a great thing, if it didn't mean certain death. Was that what this was...? Had he finally become useless for Steve's sadistic experiments?

He began to panic and pounded his fists against the glass of his tank. His vision was beginning to dim, and he knew that he would suffocate in here if he didn't get out soon. He also began to use his knees to slam against the front of the tank. He punched and pounded on it so hard that his knuckles and knees split open, mingling his blood with the water, turning everything a hazy pink. His body screamed for air, and his struggling got feebler. Once again, water was coming down between him and living.

_"And Chris ain't fucking coming. He's locked in a loony bin."_

Piers knew he couldn't believe anything that Steve Burnside said, because he'd say anything as long as the words cut deep and painfully. But... was Chris really in trouble? His first sacrifice had been to protect Chris, not only from death, but from himself and what he'd feared he'd become. Now, Piers just couldn't let himself give in, not when his Captain might need his protection again.

He'd been so furious with Chris when he'd found him, drunk and broken, in that bar in Edonia. The way he'd just so casually dismissed Piers. The way he'd forgotten him. But in the end he'd known that Chris remembered, that Chris still felt the same. He'd seen it in his Captain's eyes as the escape pod tore him away from Piers's sight. He needed to apologize for daring to let that pain fill Chris's eyes. And he wasn't going to let water separate them again.

Piers shoulder-checked against his tank, the force of his movement and the sloshing weight of the water causing it to topple. Piers felt so weak, and the jarring of his tender shoulder nearly made him finally black out into that final oblivion. He jammed himself against the side again and again, the water moving more and more fiercely with each jerk. Finally, the tank rocked and toppled off its pedestal, crashing to the ground. It was made of Plexiglas so didn't smash, but the force caused the front hatch to open, spilling Piers out onto the ground in a sea of bloody, fetid water.

He tore the mask from his face and took in desperate, loud gulps of air, too exhausted to move from the twisted pile his broken, naked body had landed in. He didn't even have the energy to scream as his entire body violently protested. Healing for him wasn't some quick, easy process. The C-Virus made it slow and arduous. The new skin on his arm felt like it was on fire, and his body ached with contact burns from the electrodes that had stimulated the electrical impulses in his body. His mouth, where Steve had bitten off a large portion of it, felt like the healing seam was going to rip open all over again.

He lay there for a while, panting and hoping that the pain would subside. His heartbeat and pulsed rushed in his ears so it deafened him to everything else. Everything except the memory of Chris's voice, the sound of his laugh. With Steve Burnside in the world, Chris wasn't safe. Nobody was safe. A world where Chris Redfield wasn't safe was unacceptable to Piers. He wouldn't just lay here and let the pain win.

He wasn't sure how long he laid on the floor, but the burn in his lungs began to subside. The rest of his body still ached everywhere, but that was a constant in his life now, ever since he'd become Steve's little toy. He had no idea what Steve was doing, but he knew that it was extremely important to him. Piers knew that he wanted to destroy whatever it was, because he wouldn't allow a monster in the world that he'd inadvertently helped create.

He slowly pushed himself to a sitting position, his arms shaking under him. He'd lost a lot of weight, and was sure he wouldn't even recognize himself in the mirror. Was his face all fucked up...? Did he even look human? Now that he didn't have to concentrate on breathing, he looked around the room. The red emergency lights were on. The power must have gone off, which explained why the air compressor he'd been breathing from had stopped working.

Piers's whole body suddenly stiffened for reasons other than pain. Now that his heartbeat and pulse weren't filling his ears, he could hear other things in his surroundings. Like the horrible cacophony of screams coming from outside the lab...

* * *

Jill groaned, reaching up to rub her pounding head. It took her a few moments to realize where she was, and what had happened. She bolted upright, slamming her eyes shut against the bright whiteness of her surroundings. She heard the others groaning around her. Someone gasped in shock.

Jill slowly opened her eyes and saw that the four of them were in some sort of very white medical exam room. She reached over and shook Rebecca's shoulder, who was still curled up on the floor, groaning as she came back to consciousness. All her motions then stopped when she saw what had caused the gasp. Sherry was on her feet, staring at the glass window that made up an entire wall of the exam room. Two people were standing on the other side, looking at them. Watching them. One of them was Dr. Leary. The other was Steve Burnside.

"Good morning," Dr. Leary greeted. He looked like a completely different man. His posture was now straight, proud and confident. He'd shaved and brushed his hair, and there was an interested, calculating gleam in his eyes that made him infinitely more handsome, and infinitely more terrifying. He also had pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and unbuttoned the top couple of buttons for a more casual look. It exposed skin that had been completely scarred in whorled patterns. The mark around his neck looked raw and livid. "I didn't think the gas would affect you for so long. No matter. It gave us more time to prepare."

"But..." Claire trailed off, rising to her feet. Her eyes locked with Steve's, and her stomach swooped in fear. There was nothing left of the boy she'd known in those pitiless red eyes.

"It's nice to see you again, Claire," Steve said. His voice had deepened with age, so wasn't quite how she remembered it. It also had a sadistic, slithery quality that made her skin crawl. "You haven't changed."

"You have."

"Thank God," he replied scathingly.

Jill ground her teeth, hating herself for walking right into a trap. Dr. Leary was looking at Steve Burnside with complete fealty and love. Yeah, he'd been punished, but it hadn't been unwelcome. Fuck.

"When I thought of bringing you here, I wondered how I would feel," Steve said, looking Claire up and down that made her feel violated. "If I would still harbor any desire for you." He laughed in a very insulting manner. "How is everyone else doing, Lex?"

Dr. Leary went over to a monitor that they women couldn't see. "Amplifying."

"Awesome. Okay ladies, here's what's going to happen. I've run out of use for all the fleshbags that work for me in this facility since I only need one more component for my research, so I've brought them all down here for a little fun. Trying to guess which virus they're infected with should add some extra amusement. You're being recorded, so try to play up to the camera." He grinned wolfishly, running a talon-like nail across the welt around Dr. Leary's neck, hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. The doctor shuddered in pleasure. "We'll be watching. Behind you is a box with your guns. I've also given you a couple extra weapons. I mean, I'm not _completely_ heartless. I did take that bag of anti-BOW grenades, though, you naughty girls. Come on, Lex. Let's leave them to it." He gestured for Dr. Leary to follow him, snapping his fingers like calling a dog.

"Oh!" He exclaimed, turning back into the room on the other side of the glass as if he'd forgotten something. He pulled a phone out of the pocket of his suede jacket. He chuckled as he fingered through to find something. "A friend of yours in down here, too. Try not to shoot him by accident. Well... okay, I'm hoping that happens. It would just be sooooo _heartbreaking_." He pressed the phone against the glass, showing them a picture of a man on an operating table, in the middle of having his arm sawed off. His mouth was open in a scream, his teeth exposed where a large chunk of skin was missing from his mouth.

Claire wailed and covered her mouth when she realized it was Piers. "He's alive?!"

"Maybe," Steve answered, putting the phone away. "At least he _was_."

"Why are you doing this?" Sherry ground out angrily, just wanting to go up and pound the glass, but not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

Steve's eyes narrowed, looking so purely evil that it frightened all of them to the core. "You're the bait, my dear. Have fun."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes: ** Cliff. Hanger. Pretty much the literal definition! (well... save the cliff I suppose?) The last part of the chapter hurt to write, because again... Chris is me. And these feelings, but not necessarily the situation, were real.

**Chapter Six**

_"And you can't hold me down,_

_'Cause I belong to the hurricane,_

_It's gonna blow this all away..."_

* * *

"We are so _screwed_," Rebecca hissed, head lolling to the ceiling. She folded her hands and slapped them on top of her head, trying to think of a way out of this mess, but coming up with a big heap of nothing.

"We've all been in situations like this before," Sherry pointed out logically. "I mean, they all seemed helpless, and we're here to tell the tale." She was trying to be optimistic, because she could see despair creeping into everyone's faces, and could feel it creeping into her own heart. Everyone except for Jill, that is. She looked cold and stony, and Sherry tried to emulate her strength.

"He said we were bait," Rebecca murmured. "Bait for what?"

Jill went over to the box that had been left on the doctor's table in the room. It had stirrups and a very ugly brown stain that looked like someone had tried to clean up a massive amount of blood but had been unsuccessful. There was a hellish smell coming from the box.

"Piers is alive..." Claire trailed off, still staring at the window where Steve and Dr. Leary had been watching them. The room was quiet and empty now, but the feeling of Steve's presence, and the evil that came from him like a malevolent aura still hung there like a presence all its own. "We have to help him."

"_Maybe_ he's alive," Jill pointed out darkly. "That could have been a really old photograph. _Maybe_ he never amplified further. Maybe he's still alive if there really is some mass outbreak out there. Maybe he hasn't been polluted by the virus like Steve was. You heard what Dr. Leary said... I bet that Steve was once like that picture, too. Now look at him."

"Can you really believe anything Dr. Leary had to say?" Rebecca asked caustically, hands still on the top of her head as she continued to think. She stared at the box. "And, who knows if our weapons are really in this thing, anyway. It smells like death."

"I don't care about 'maybe'," Claire said with great finality, thinking about the sadness in Chris's eyes. Thinking about his loneliness and guilt about Piers's death. If there was even the smallest chance that Piers was alive, Claire was going to do everything she could to find him, rescue him from this place, and bring him back home to her brother's side. Where he belonged.

With a finality that was so strong and Redfield-like, Claire stormed over to the box and ripped the lid off, filling the room with the grotesque stink that was coming from within. It coated all their throats, and each of them had to rear away and either cough, groan, or swallow back vomit. Only Claire remained still as a statue, staring into the horrors the box contained. She stared down into the disgusting, liquefying mess of body parts, laying amidst what looked like used sharps. Gore-soaked razor blades and used syringes were dusted over the top and obviously layered throughout the mess like some demented cake.

"Fifty bucks says that blood his hot," Rebecca muttered, breathing heavily through her mouth.

"I think I can see a knife hilt..." Claire trailed off, cocking her head and studying the mess, a coil of stinking, punctured intestine looking like it was wrapped around something.

"If there's any guns in there, they may not even fire anymore," pointed out Jill gravely.

"We need something that we can use to poke around in there without touching the needles," Claire said.

"You still have your first aid pouch," Sherry said, pointing to Rebecca's waist. "I wonder if he left anything in there."

Rebecca nodded and moved away from the box, unzipping her pouch. She examined the contents. "Everything seems like it's still in here. Someone obviously went through it, but nothing's missing." She frowned. "There isn't really anything long enough to work as a stick."

"If we could just see if that's a knife, we could use it." Claire put her hands on her hips, looking at the contents of the first aid pouch. "What if we use the tape to put the syringe cases together?"

"Better than nothing." Rebecca began the task of fastening together the plastic casings as tightly as she could. "Here, you'll need these too." Rebecca handed Claire a pair of latex gloves.

Sherry took them before Claire could grab them. "I should do it. The G-Virus will kill any disease that comes in my blood."

"Be careful though," Rebecca warned. "Just in case."

Sherry nodded, snapping on the gloves. She pursed her lips and took a deep breath, poking at the contents of the box. She pushed the intestines away, and indeed saw that it was the hilt of the knife. She made sure that there were no needles or razor blades poking near the hilt, and gripped it. Her fingers slid around the handle because of the gore. She grunted as she tried to pull it up, but it seemed to be stuck on something.

"Stand back. Something might splatter out," she warned as she gave a good, hard tug. She felt the knife start to slide out of whatever was holding it, but the tug also brought up the object causing the resistance. She gasped when she unearthed a head that had the top part of the skull missing. The knife, and several other edged weapons, were embedded in the stinking, liquefying face.

Rebecca turned away immediately when she recognized that face. She clutched her belly and slipped to the floor. "Barry," she moaned, tears falling onto her thighs. Barry had always been such a father figure to her, especially since she'd never known her father. And, to see him like this...

"On your feet," Jill commanded, gripping Rebecca's shoulders. "That's not Barry anymore, okay?" She cupped the sides of the younger woman's face, not wanting her to look as Sherry laid the head down beside the box, she and Claire beginning the grim task of removing the weapons.

"Oh God..." Sherry groaned. Claire was pulling out the last small butterfly knife from within the head's mouth. She couldn't think of this as Barry, a man whom she'd babysat for. A man who'd invited her and Chris over to dinner on Thanksgiving like they were members of his family. He'd been turned. This wasn't him anymore. It hadn't been him when Chris had ended his life. This was just a shell. This was just a shell. This was just a shell...

"What?" Jill asked. What the hell could be worse than finding Barry's head? Sherry had her nose buried in the crook of one of her elbows, the stench now filling the entire room.

Jill peeked in the box, brow furrowing. "Jesus. Are those... breasts...?"

"There's a plastic bag underneath of them." Sherry gagged from the cloying perfume of decay that now completely filled the room. It would probably hang on their hair and skin for weeks. If they even lived that long.

Jill shook her head. "This guy's even crazier than Wesker. At least Wesker always had some kind of grand scheme or end game. This Burnside guy's just..."

"Sadistic," Claire finished, wiping the mess off the blades with the bottom part of her grey t-shirt that she'd ripped off. She then used some sanitizing spray from the first aid kit on the knives to kill germs.

"It's our guns," Sherry said with a measure of confusion, pulling the gore-soaked plastic bag out from the mess.

Claire opened the bag as Sherry poked at the liquid goop in the bottom of the box, seeing if there was anything else of use.

"Are they still loaded...?" Rebecca asked. Each of them wondered what the catch was.

"There are extra magazines in here... more than we came with." Jill pulled out the clip on her gun, seeing that it was full.

"Why the hell would he give us full guns and extra ammo...?" Rebecca asked, tilting her head in thought as Claire handed her one of the butterfly knives. She hesitated before taking it, knowing where it had been, even _with_ it soaked in sanitizing spray.

Jill laughed darkly. "It's all a fucking show. He wants us to fight our way out, and kill as many of his former employees as possible. He's going to watch us kill them, and he's going to get off on it. We may have survivors that are in rough shape that we'll have to help. God knows how emotionally and mentally damaged they are too, after working for that monster."

They fell to the silent task of arming themselves and preparing mentally for whatever was on the other side of that door. They'd all been in this kind of situation before, and went to that cool, detached place within themselves that would allow them to deal with surviving, and allow them to save the guilt and anger and sorrow until they'd gotten out the other side.

"And, we have to find Piers," Claire noted with finality.

"Claire... wait a minute," Sherry said sadly. "I want to find him too, but... we have to be prepared for what we may find. He might be dead. He might be so badly damaged that death would be a blessing. He might... oh, Claire. Steve Burnside was once in this exact same situation – a guinea pig for an infected Tyrant. And look what happened to him. There's a _darkness_ that being infected brings to you, and he may not be able to come back from it."

"You came back from it," Rebecca said, putting a hand on the blonde's shoulder.

"It's still there though," she warned, staring imploringly into Claire's eyes.

"I'm not leaving him," Claire said with rare iron in her voice. "Do you think I could ever look into Chris's eyes again after telling him that Piers was alive, and I didn't bring him back? Do you think I could tell him all over again that Piers died? Do you think I could ever face him if I lied about it? Do you think I could ever face _myself_?"

Sherry pursed her lips. "I know, Claire. Piers helped save my life in China. More than once. I owe him, and I don't want to ever have to tell Chris he was alive and we didn't bring him back. I just want you to be ready."

Jill reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded up photocopy of blueprints they'd gotten from Dr. Leary. "Now... we can't be sure that this thing is correct, seeing as how Leary turned out to be a lying sack of shit, but right now this is all we have."

"Maybe it is real," Rebecca said, pointing to a room that she thought they could be in, since it was next to a control room. "I mean, they did give us fully loaded guns and left our first aid kit intact."

Sherry pulled a pen out from an inner pocket in her shirt. "Okay, so this must be the elevator that we came down here in." She circled the entrance to the outside world with the red ink. "Want to take odds that something horrific is blocking our way, or that the elevator is out of power?"

"If we are really on this floor, this looks like it's a lot of administration and board rooms. Most of the research is in the lower levels." Claire pointed. "We need to get down there to find Piers."

"Looks like there's a main lab on that level, too." Sherry wrote 'Steve?' in red ink. "Whatever research he's actually been working on would be in that room. He's probably in there, too."

"You think we can kill him without our grenades?" Rebecca asked, doubt clouding her big blue eyes.

Claire partially tuned out of the conversation, thinking of the last time she'd seen Steve before today. He'd whispered that he loved her before dying. He'd looked so scared, so fragile and vulnerable. And now... And now... What if sweet, fiery Piers made the same horrific change? God, what would she tell Chris?

"Claire?"

She sharply took in her breath, surprised by Sherry's gentle hand on her shoulder.

"We'll find him."

"You bet your ass we will," Claire said, smiling grimly with conviction.

"Okay, I'll take point. Cover me while I go try the door to the room next door."

The other women nodded and flanked the door. Jill stood in front of it with her gun pointed ahead, slowing her breathing and readying herself for whatever might be beyond this tiny room that stank of decomposing flesh. She nodded as she saw the resolve in their eyes too, and stepped out into the hallway when Rebecca opened the door, ready to face whatever Steve Burnside had in store for them.

* * *

Piers groaned, sweat dripped down his naked back as he pushed the last table in front of the lab's door. He could still hear awful screaming and moaning and inhuman noises coming from outside, and he knew he was in no shape to face anything that might come through that door, and he didn't dare hope that his infected status would make them leave him alone, because he knew the virus was going dormant. That's why Steve probably had just left him here to die. He was no longer useful as a test subject and tissue harvest for whatever experiment he was working on.

Piers slid to the floor, legs spread out akimbo and feeling like they were made of jelly. Normally, pushing all those tables wouldn't have been anything at all, but he'd lost most of his muscle mass, and his body _ached_. Not just from all the injuries that Steve had inflicted on him, but from the mutations he'd gotten when he'd injected himself with the C-Virus to save Chris's life. Especially his ribs and his shoulder.

He slammed his sore, dry eyes shut, trying to block out the screams and get his bearings. The screaming made him very uncomfortable, and made the sweat start running all over again because he'd made those noises only recently under the painful touch of Steve Burnside. Piers slowly let out his breath, knowing he had to find a way out. Or even find out _where_ he needed to get out of. It's not like Steve had been forthcoming about information. He hadn't even revealed anything about what he was working on. He definitely wasn't one of those 'wow my victim with my grand scheme' guys. He'd been very quiet on that subject.

But he'd been very vocal on the subject of Chris Redfield. He'd spoken of him with such venom that telling Piers about all the bad things that were happening to him seemed to give him pleasure in more ways than just giving Piers pain. And he'd known pretty much everything. It was either made up, or he had someone watching Chris. And reporting...

Piers slowly got to his feet, looking around the lab, really seeing it for the first time. He'd only either been on the operating table or in the tank, and the trip in between had always been a blur because he'd been in so much pain. Piers slowly walked around, squeezing his right hand open and shut to stave off stiffness. The arm that had grown back in the place of the electrified mess seemed alien, and had a strange burned, almost mummified texture to the skin. It didn't feel like part of Piers's body, though he could command it to touch things and he could what it touched.

He noticed there were no windows, of course. But the air ducts caught his attention. The opening was right near the ceiling, and seemed very small. There would have been no chance in hell of Piers being able to get into that thing six months ago, but now there was a possibility. He worried that his shoulders might still be too wide, but so far it was the only alternative to escape, besides going out into whatever horror show was causing all that screaming outside.

Piers had used all the tables in the room to barricade the door, but he found a chair and shakily rose up on it to make sure he could reach. He could, but he'd have to stretch and vault himself up, and he knew that would be a challenge with his lack of muscle mass, and his gimpy arm.

"First things first," he murmured to himself, the sound of his own voice sounding alien to him. "A map and a screwdriver." He examined the screws on the duct to see what kind he'd need. "A weapon would probably help too," he told himself after a particularly long, nasty scream that got cut off with a bang against the wall, so hard that it rattled his ramshackle barricade.

Piers found a computer terminal next to a half-opened locker. There was a lab coat inside, as well as some hand sanitizer and a pair of soft soled shoes. The stitching on the pocket said 'Dr. Leary'. He put the coat on over himself, the room's cool temperature chilling the sweat on his skin. Piers then checked the pockets, grinning when he came back with a switchblade. He also tried on the shoes, but they were too small.

"Shit," Piers whispered to himself, rubbing his ribcage as he sat in front of the password-locked computer. He didn't want to just keep randomly putting in passwords in case it wound up locking him out permanently. He tried to think like Steve Burnside, which appalled him. He knew that Steve often talked about his disgust with the weakness of humanity, and how Alexia Ashford had actually saved him from a terrible existence. It was the only thing that seemed to give him true passion besides whatever research he'd been trying to do.

Piers tried 'Ashford', but got a denied window. He saw a small window pop up that let him know he only had 4 more chances before the system would wipe the drive. He knew this because the BSAA had the same type of protection software. He closed his eyes and winced at the pain in his ribs. "Chris, what should I do...?" he whispered.

_Just stay calm and try your best. You know you can do it. Just don't panic,_ Piers imagined Chris telling him. He knew he was on the right track with the Ashford vein. Piers searched around the neat desk, but found no clues about a password. He did find a pen and paper though, and started writing out different possibilities. After the first couple words, he had to purse his lips to keep from crying out, his new arm throbbing at the use.

"Veronica..." he murmured, trying the password. It failed. "Okay, umm... Tyrant." He had a good feeling about it, because it was the species that Steve now belonged to. Something other than human. Something above.

_I told you that you could do it_, Piers imagined Chris saying in the back of his mind as the computer opened up to him. Typing stiffened his fingers, but he ignored the pain, searching the database for a map. He found the blueprints and printed them out. He then started typing, trying to get into Steve's files to find out what he was doing, but they didn't exist on this database. He probably kept it on a personal drive or something.

"Chris..." he murmured, thinking of all the information that Steve had given him about Chris needing to go to a mental hospital. He typed in Chris's name, and a bunch of files came up. More than Piers could have ever expected. When he saw Chris's picture from his S.T.A.R.S. ID, Piers's heart constricted, and he touched the screen, remembering the feel of Chris's skin under his fingertips. Most of the files actually seemed to be quite old, and updated frequently right up until about 3 years earlier.

"Wesker was watching you," Piers whispered, just wanting to hear his own voice so he wouldn't go crazy with fear, and with the idea of trying to escape this place. There had been a couple years without many updates, just perfunctory location updates, but then there started to be more updates about a year ago. There was a lot of information about China and the C-Virus, and then information about a hospital in Chicago.

Piers opened a video file that appeared to have been taken on a security camera. Chris was standing in front of a door, swiping a card through a card reader over and over again. There was no sound, but he was obviously distressed. Chris stood staring at the door, and Piers had to cover his mouth when he saw tears glistening on Chris's cheeks. He watched as Jill and Rebecca came into the frame, Chris completely collapsing, obviously screaming and crying.

Piers punched the desk with his good hand, hating that this was happening to his Captain, and he hadn't been there to protect him, to comfort him, to love and hold him until it got better. He watched Rebecca inject him, and Chris become very still, though obviously still awake. The women left the frame, and a few moments passed of Piers just watching Chris, missing him and wanting to get out of this hellhole so they could be together again. He remembered the pain in Chris's eyes as the escape pod separated them. In that moment, he'd known that Chris remembered. Maybe not everything they'd experienced together, but he remembered all the same. The hurt and the pain and the love in Chris's eyes had destroyed Piers more than the C-Virus and the explosion ever could have, but if he could choose, he'd do it all again to save Chris's life.

The gentle lulled feeling of happiness that Piers had felt watching Chris, like watching him sleep like he'd done so many nights they'd been together, was horribly cut short when Piers saw a very familiar figure come out the door. His heart stopped in his throat as Steve Burnside crouched down in front of Chris, examining him, saying something. Steve then reached behind Chris's back and pulled out his hunting knife from the sheath that Chris had there.

"No..." Piers whimpered as the knife was slapped into Chris's hands, and Chris slowly brought it to his wrists. "Honey, stop..." he begged, turning away as Chris cut his wrists wide open. "He's still alive," Piers told himself. "He's still alive. He's still alive." He turned off the video, unable to watch his Captain dying in a pool of his own blood.

He looked at recent medical records, still chanting to himself "he's still alive", seeing another suicide attempt on his file, and notes from a psychiatrist about Chris's inability to let go of his guilt and his fear of disappointing people. Piers hated himself for ever causing Chris that kind of grief. He knew he's spend the rest of his life making it up to him.

"Fuck this," he told himself, getting up and wiping the tears off his face with his gimpy hand. He started searching around for a screwdriver or chisel or something he could use as a tool. Under one of the stainless steel sinks that had swallowed up gallons of his own blood at one point or another, Piers found a small toolbox that contained some screwdrivers, a hammer, a flashlight, a measuring tape, and various other things like nuts, bolts and washers. Piers pocketed all the screwdrivers, flashlight, a pencil he'd found rolling in the bottom, and the hammer and got back up on the chair.

He set to the task of unscrewing the air duct. He soon got tired and sweaty because of the exertion, but he was anything if not stubborn, so he ignored all the pain in his ribs from stretching, and the numbness in his arm from the lack of muscle memory. When he got the grate unscrewed, he tried not to let it drop loudly, in case whatever was in the hallway could hear. But, he hadn't anticipated it being so heavy, so it dropped with a really loud clang that caused him to jump and nearly fall off the chair.

The screaming got louder, and he heard some unearthly wail come from the other side of the door. The tables of the barricade started shaking as the... thing kept wailing. It's sounded like something unearthed from a nightmare. He saw dents appearing in the doorway, so started the task of vaulting himself up. His hands were sweaty from fear and adrenaline, so he lost his grip a couple of times before dragging himself up into the duct. _Christ, please let me fit in this fucking thing_, he silently prayed to himself. It was a bit cramped, but he fit, and was able to move fairly easily into the duct.

The duct was narrow but had a little height, so Piers was able to shimmy forward. He kept going on ahead so he'd be away from the opening of the duct, and moved for what felt like forever through the hot ducts. His body was dripping with sweat from the heat, and from the physical exhaustion. When he came to a T-junction, he stopped and pulled out his folded blueprints from the pocket of the drenched labcoat, the flashlight between his teeth. He started searching the blueprints for his location, starting on the lowest level first, knowing that he was probably in a tightly secured area.

He searched the blueprints until his eyes burned, marking his current location after finding it on B3. There were four levels below him, including one with a large lab that Piers suspected was Steve's. He still had no clue _where_ he was, but at least it was a start. Piers decided to rest for a while, his arms killing him from dragging his body around. He continued to flex his new hand, feeling a little strength coming back into it. He knew that he'd have to find a break room or commons soon, because he'd need water and food. He also wanted to sleep, and allowed his eyes to close for a quick rest.

_Piers lay half-asleep, too contented and tired to move, tangled in the sweaty sheets. His legs still trembled and there was a rip in the pillowcase from where he'd bitten it so hard to muffle his wail of ecstasy when Chris had brought him to orgasm with the slow, piston like thrusts of his entire fist._

_He smiled when he felt the mattress dip under Chris's weight, and his Captain's strong arms came around him, spooning him tenderly. He sighed when he felt Chris smile into the back of his neck. God, that smile._

_Piers did wonder __about other men, and if Chris'd been in love with many others. He couldn't help it. He had a possessive streak in him, he knew that, and the biggest question on his mind was one that popped out of his mouth without him meaning it to._

_"Did you and Wesker have an affair?"_

_Chris didn't say anything for a while, though he didn't stiffen up against Piers's back, and he didn't stop the slow stroking of the line of his waist and hip. "It was more than an affair. At least to me. At least at first."_

_"Did you love him?" Piers wanted to know the answer, but didn't at the same time._

_"Yes. Deeply. I don't sleep with a man unless I see a future with him." Chris squeezed Piers closer to him, and the younger man squirmed pleasurably._

_"Did you...? Did you still love him at the end...?"_

_"No," Chris answered. "I was in love with the man that I thought Albert Wesker was. He was so handsome and charming, smart and worldly. He made me feel important and special and loved in a way that I hadn't felt in a really long time. Or maybe ever. But that man never existed. I was in love with a ghost."_

_"Do you think he cared about you at all?"_

_"No. He only cared about using me, and enjoyed breaking my heart." There was a pain in his voice that Piers hated. He hated Albert Wesker with a passion for causing his Captain that pain. "He didn't know the meaning of love."_

_Piers frowned. "I wish he was alive right now so I could kill him for you."_

_"I don't want you to kill anyone for me, sweetheart. Can we maybe talk about something else now? Wesker isn't exactly my favorite post-coital topic of conversation."_

_"Okay. What do you want to talk about then?"_

_"Hmmm. I know. If you had to answer right away, what kind of animal would you be?"_

_"You're a dick."_

_Chris chuckled against Piers's back, holding him tighter. Their breathing and body rhythms synched together as they drifted off together. Piers fell in love with Chris over and over again with every heartbeat. He wanted to say 'I love you', but didn't. It was too soon, and he knew that Chris didn't feel it yet. He'd wait, and he knew it would be worth it..._

Piers's eyes snapped open when he heard a loud bang coming from the direction of his laboratory prison. The taste in his mouth and the stiffness in his neck told him that he'd fallen asleep. He heard that deathly, horrible wail that terrified him in a way that only Steve Burnside could terrify him, and it was echoing. "Fuck," Piers hissed. It was fucking echoing, which meant that the thing was getting into the air shaft, or was already in there with him.

Piers moved his stiff, sore body forward, as quickly as he could go. He definitely knew he didn't want whatever could make such a noise to catch him...

* * *

"You can't smoke in here, Chris."

"Oh. Sorry," Chris said, as if he didn't know the rules. He gave an apologetic shrug to Jorge, one of the eye candy ward nurses. Maybe Chris would have flirted with him and his lovely clear skin and liquid, coffee brown eyes once upon a time, but not now. Not in this mental condition, where he hadn't even had a real erection in over a month, and his morning wood faded so quickly that he couldn't even try to bring it to full hardness. Not before Piers. Since Piers, there was no other man. Nobody else could ever replace him. No other man would be as fiery and honorable and beautiful. No other man could fill the raw black hole where Chris's heart had once beat.

Chris pretended to stub out the cigarette under Jorge's cute but beady glare. Once the nurse had moved on, Chris went back to smoking the cigarette. Once finished, he wanted another one, but didn't push his luck. If Jorge caught him again, they'd probably search his room and take them away. Smoking was the only thing that gave him pleasure right now, and it wasn't even very _much_ pleasure.

_There's a way to sneak up on the roof, you know? They don't like us going up there because of the jumper a few years ago, but it's a great place to sneak some cigarettes. I have a bottle of Canadian Club stashed up there. Nice and cold, too. It's in the heating vent, FYI_.

Chris remembered the helpful tip from one of his fellow patients. The depressive and anxious patients on the floor sometimes got together to sneak out on the grounds and have a smoke. They liked it because they all were so lost in their own heads that they had the sense of company, but didn't have to talk. That's why they never invited the manics or demented.

Chris reached under his mattress to take the pack of cigarettes stuffed under there. He poked his head out in the hall to see where Jorge was. He was back at the nurse's station. The patients in his wing were allowed to walk around as they pleased, but the nurses did tend to ask a lot of questions, and they definitely wouldn't let Chris go up on the roof.

Using some of his naturally ingrained stealth from all his years fighting BOWs, Chris made his way to Ward C, where there was an entrance to the roof that wasn't really monitored, since they were only there for very short stays, and often didn't have issues that warranted constant supervision. Chris hated Ward C because everyone looked relatively happy and had loved ones around them. He envied that. He missed feeling happy.

_Buy me a steak and I'll do anything you want, my love..._

Chris waited until the coast was clear and slipped into the stairwell that led up to the roof. It would be freezing up there, colder than his sweater could handle, but he didn't really care. By the time he got to the top floor, he was winded since he was far from his usual physical condition. He smiled, the rare gesture hurting his face like it had forgotten how to move that way, as the door pushed open and he was blasted in the face by cool wind. He stepped out on the roof and turned his body away from the wind to light his cigarette. He breathed in the noxious, delicious smoke and turned to look at the sunset, painting reds and pinks and oranges across the sky. He smiled again as he looked at it. The sunset would always be there, always be beautiful. Always be heartbreaking. It reminded him of the sky on all the worst days of his life. The sunset and sunrise had ushered in so much loss. The loss of Raccoon City. The loss of the rest of S.T.A.R.S. The loss of Wesker. The loss of Piers. The loss of his parents.

The sunrise that had greeted him as he'd come out of the morgue, having just identified his dead parents, had been the worst. It had forever changed the course of Chris's life. It still fucking _hurt_ to think of that morning. To know that nothing would ever be the same again. He'd stared up at the sun until his eyes had hurt. He'd stared up at it until the police officer had ushered him into the squad car to take him home and tell Claire that their parents were gone and were never coming back.

The sunrise always moved on. It hammered home that Chris was supposed to move on, too. There was always a new day, no matter how much he'd had to give up in the night. It always mocked him. How many more times did he have to fucking move on?!

_They don't like us going up there because of the jumper a few years ago..._

Chris walked to the edge of the roof, the wind chilling his face. It blew away tears he didn't even realize he'd shed. Was this the spot where the person had leapt from the rooftop to plummet to the sidewalk below? Had they felt free in those last moments of life? Free from the pain as their body soared through the air like a bird? Had they smiled knowing that death was rushing to embrace them as they looked up at a beautiful sunset, smiling because the beautiful colors would be the last thing they would see?

With determination, he vaulted up onto the lip of the roof, the wind feeling even rawer. He turned around so his back was to the ground and tilted his face up to the sunset. If there was something on the other side of death, would his parents be there to greet him? Would they be disappointed in him? He'd never had the chance to tell them he was gay, so he wondered how they would feel about it. He'd always imagined that they'd be supportive, that they would say it didn't matter, and that they loved him for being Chris Redfield. Would they forgive him for not being stronger? Would Barry forgive him for shooting him, for ending his wretched transformation? Would Wesker be there? Would death strip away all the evil, and leave behind the man that Chris had always thought he was, behind the lie? Or, would he burn forever with his former lover for all the lives he'd taken?

Would Piers be there...? Would Chris get to look into his beautiful hazel eyes again and whisper apologies against his perfect mouth? Would he get to feel Piers's arms around him for eternity, instead of having to exist with only a painful memory?

He spread his arms out, staring at the sun until his eyes hurt. Just like outside the morgue that day when he'd had to grow up too fast. He tilted his heels back over the lip of the roof, and let his weight's momentum tip him over the edge...


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"_I died today, but I'm still breathing,_

_Bleeding, for now, I'm broken..."_

- "No More Good Guys" – Skindive

* * *

"Clear," Jill called from the landing on the stairs. She'd gone ahead of the other women to check the status of the stairwell they were in. Unfortunately, the office next door had been sealed up tighter than a bank safe, so they were now on the search for a working computer terminal. Not only had Steve infected about half of the employees with some unknown agent that caused mutations they'd never seen before, but he also seemed to have spiked them with LSD, or some other agent that not only caused mutation, but also crazed insanity. All the computer terminals they'd found so far had been smashed. One had someone's head right through the monitor, a grotesque smiley face drawn on the monitor case with the victim's blood.

"I'll take point this time," Sherry whispered as they crowded around the door to B4. The doors leading up seemed to be blocked, and Claire refused to go up in any regard. She wouldn't leave without Piers, or at least without making sure he really was dead. It would take a lot to survive what they'd seen so far, and she was sure that there was much worse to come. These weren't the zombies that she was used to seeing. These were mutilated, grotesque creations that had probably been tortured beyond belief before being injected with this hybrid virus that not only seemed cause the pure physical strength and altered reality of an Angel Dust trip, but also seemed to be giving extra appendages and to be contorting their bodies in horrific ways.

"Lights are out," Sherry whispered as quietly as possible when she stepped into the hallway. The stench of blood and death filled her nostrils, and her hackles immediately rose. She knew that they weren't alone in this dark hallway. "Hold there," she whispered again. Her G-Virus enhanced night vision would be helpful here, because she could see fairly well without a flashlight, which could just draw the attention of whatever was giving her that sick feeling.

She checked the left way and right very quietly and slowly, and started to slowly move to the left, since the bad feeling was coming from the right. She'd taken about ten steps when the lights snapped on with a nearly deafening buzz that caused them all to gasp and rear their heads away from the harsh light.

The hallway was then filled with a growling wail that sounded so freakish and inhuman, but could have come from nothing other than a human. All four of them froze, hearing a rapid footfall that definitely sounded human, but had a strange gait.

"Uh..." Rebecca trailed off when the person that made the noise came around the corner, panting and staring at them. "I think we should run."

It was a woman, though she seemed to be becoming less human. She was holding something that might have been a table or chair leg in a bloodied fist with fingers that seemed too elongated to be normal, the skin ripped away as if it had been a very violent, very rapid growth. She was panting and making some horrid noise that seemed mixed between a pained whine and a breathless giggle. Her top had mostly been ripped off, and hung off her shoulders and arms in bloodstained tatters. The skin of her ribcage looked like it had been ripped apart by her fingernails, but the ribcage also seemed to have broken through the skin in sharp, pointed shards. Her neck also seemed much too long, but all those strange mutations were nothing compared to the crazed look in her eyes.

"Shit!" Sherry screeched as the woman ran towards them with superhuman speed, the makeshift club missing Sherry's face by inches, her own enhanced genetics the only thing saving her.

"Come on!" Jill shouted behind them, firing her gun at the woman, who lurched back. The physical injury staggered the diseased woman, but in the true T-Virus and her sister virus's nature, it immediately retaliated against the wound. A heinous cracking noise came from her, and the ribcage poked further out from her chest, the bones growing longer and sharper. Her spine also seemed to be lengthening and bowing forward in an s-like curve.

Jill and Claire fired again, giving Sherry and Rebecca the chance to move away from the woman, who was now more creature than human. The noise from the mutating woman and the gunfire caused other moans and wails to echo through the halls like a grisly chorus. Jill started running backwards, firing as more of the monstrosities filled the hall behind their counterpart. Jill just saw targets, and didn't try to pay attention to how horrible and terrifying the mutations actually looked.

"Shit, come on!" Sherry called as even more infected filled the halls. She dashed back near Jill, Claire and Rebecca firing into the crowd. They killed a few, but the others just shuffled, stuttered, trampled and stepped over the corpses.

Jill halted firing and looked upward when she heard some kind of metal rattling. "GET BACK!" She shouted, throwing her arm out to push Sherry away as a metal fire wall came sliding out from the ceiling. Jill and Sherry both fell backwards from the violence of Jill's push, the wall slamming down at a speed that would have easily severed one of their limbs.

"Claire!" Sherry screamed, quickly scrambling to her feet and running to the fire wall. She pounded on it, calling Claire's name again. "Can you hear me?" She pressed her ear to the metal, but couldn't hear anything.

"It's probably really thick," Jill hissed, gently knocking on the divider. She put her hand on Sherry's shoulder. "Rebecca's been trained for this kind of stuff, and Claire's a Redfield. They'll be okay."

"Yeah, what about us?" Sherry asked as they reluctantly turned away from the fire wall. "I know that we split up some of the medical stuff, but Rebecca still has most of it."

"We'll make due." Jill looked up and started to check for cameras. "That fire wall didn't just drop by itself. This is all a big game. We're not going to get out of here without that bastard throwing everything he can at us."

"So, what should we do? He said we were bait. Bait for one of his creations?"

Jill shrugged. "There's something more going on here. I know that Claire wants to find Piers. I do too, but I think we need to go after Steve first," she said quietly, not sure if any of the hidden cameras could pick up a lot of audio.

"With what?" Sherry asked with a dark laugh. "He took our grenades."

"I don't know yet, but if I gave up before in these kinds of situations, I wouldn't be here today. I do know that we need to get to a computer terminal that actually works."

"Maybe we can contact out to Leon. He may be able to help us with some anti-BOW grenades." Sherry took a few silent steps forward, seeing a split staircase. "Up or down?"

"Both options are equally terrible, but a secure connection is going to be down."

Sherry sighed. "God I hope Rebecca and Claire are okay. I feel like we're descending into Hell."

"Descending? We're already there."

* * *

Chris gasped as his backwards motion was halted by someone grabbing a handful of the front of his sweater and yanking him forward roughly. He wound up landing hard on the tar with his shoulder, being kneed in the stomach as he and the other person got tangled together in the backwards fall. He could smell Jorge's inexpensive cologne, and immediately started struggling. Chris kneed the nurse in the balls, shimmying out from underneath him. He started to desperately run towards the roof's ledge again. He wouldn't fail this time. He'd get to be with Piers again. He'd get to be with his parents again.

Chris was tackled around the knees by a panting, groaning Jorge, who was now shouting for help. Chris couldn't hear exactly what the nurse was yelling because the blood in his ears was so loud, and he was also moaning and shouting incoherently. He then felt more hands restraining him, but he still kept trying to crawl away. He felt one of his nails break off as he tried to claw his way across the roof.

"Let me go, you fucking asshole!" Chris screamed, letting out a long angry scream as he felt a prick in his left ass cheek. "Why won't you fucking let me die?!"

Even with the drugs now moving through his system, Chris struggled, and he felt three pairs of hands on him now, forcing him into a straight jacket.

"Chris, we're trying to help you!" Jorge insisted.

"Fuck... you..." Chris garbled out as the drugs took effect, his upper body pinned in the thick white material. He slipped into black oblivion, wishing it was the black bottom of the ocean where he'd left Piers behind.

"_I can smell you, Chris..." Wesker's voice taunted through the earthen walls and nooks of the underground labyrinth they found themselves in. It was stiflingly hot, and in the distance I could hear Jill and Sheva fighting. Jill... _

"_Where are you, my pet?"_

_Despite my fury at Wesker for what he'd done to my best friend, his low, smooth voice still touched a part of me that wouldn't vanish, no matter how hard I tried to ignore or bury it._

_I started to try and sneak down the pathway towards another dusty crypt room, away from the sound of Wesker's voice, but he found me, and before I could dash away, he had me slammed up against the wall with such force that all air left my lungs._

_I punched him hard enough that his head snapped back and he stumbled, his sunglasses clattering to the floor. He nearly let go of me, but retained his grasp on me, even when he had to regain his footing and I almost fell down with him. I knew the only way I'd get out of his grasp was ripping off my arms._

_He just stared at me with those fiery, malevolent eyes, moving his arm so that he was pinning my throat under the pressure of both his forearm and my own. Even though it still hurt to look in his eyes, and my gut reaction was to look away from the unnaturalness of them, I didn't break the gaze, even when my vision dimmed from lack of oxygen._

_He stared at me, studying me. I couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking, this man I thought I'd known so well, this man whom I'd loved deeply, and still did love despite all his actions and all my best efforts to completely hate him. Oh, I hated him too, but it warred with the love I'd had for his alter-ego, and for the desire I had for him, even as a monster._

_Then his lips were on mine, his full body now pinning me to the rough wall. I tried to struggle away, but really... I didn't try too hard. My body arched to his, molding itself against the planes that I knew so well. I could feel that this wasn't just him playing with me and torturing me (thought it did... it so fucking did), and that he wanted it, too. He was hard, and pressed his groin to mine with such firmness that it skirted that line between pleasurable and genuine pain._

_I wanted to believe he was hard because he really did feel something for me aside from his desire to hurt me. I wanted to believe that his tongue moved so gently into my mouth because he simply wanted to kiss me, because he missed kissing me. Because he missed _me_._ _I couldn't believe it, though. There was nothing but lies right to the core of Albert Wesker._

_And yet I kissed him back. My tongue moved with his with such familiarity. Our bodies knew each other, and moved of their own accord. God, even with Sheva and Jill ready to kill each other, I moaned into his mouth, my breath hitching when his gloved hand fumbled with the fly of my pants. It made my heart constrict in my chest when he quietly moaned into my mouth. It made me think of all the times that I thought he'd actually meant it. I tortured myself with those thoughts, playing them over and over again in my mind for all the years since I found out that Wesker had completely lied to me._

_It didn't take long for Wesker's hand to bring me to orgasm, my semen splattering over his black leather glove. He laughed quietly into my ear and I let out a defeated noise between a groan and a whimper, turning my face away from his in shame._

"_I enjoy that you still know exactly where your loyalties are, my pet."_

_I couldn't help but turn my face back to the source of Wesker's voice, my nose filled with the scent of the other man, which didn't change even when everything else about him had. My face suddenly became so hot that the flesh seemed to be burning right off it. I was looking at Wesker's familiar face, ruined by mutation and burns. We were falling into the lava, Jill and Sheva screaming after me._

_My body crunched and turned to burnt ashes and cinders against Wesker's, his deformed arm slipping through the blackened, bubbling shell of my skin, touching me on the inside._

"_Captain..." Piers whispered in my ear. "Just let yourself fall, sweetheart. I'll catch you."_

_I opened my mouth to let the burning lava in, but it turned into cold, salty water, burning my lungs with the sheer chill. I let myself fall, my body now burning and jerking from electricity rather than fire. I knew that Piers had caught me, and we were finally together again..._

Chris snorted and jerked awake, his whole body heavy and sore from the drugs and restraint. He was still tied up in the straight jacket, and was motion. "What...?"

"Shut up!" a voice hissed behind him. Everything was really dark, and he could feel himself being lifted. He jammed his restrained elbow on something and cursed, and was shushed again. He groggily saw that he was being put into the passenger seat of a car, and when he tried to focus, he saw a male nurse pushing away a wheelchair into some bushes.

A wave of fear went through Chris, wondering what was happening, and hating that he was still half-drugged and in a fucking straight jacket. There would be no way to protect himself. The nurse jumped in behind the steering wheel and leaned over to buckle the seatbelt around Chris. Chris found himself staring at the sharp and painfully familiar profile of Jake Muller.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, words still slurring.

"So what did you do this time to make them put you in a straight jacket?" Jake asked as he drove the car at a normal pace, at least until they got away from the hospital.

"Tried to jump off the roof."

"You're just a laugh a minute." Jake casually pulled the car into a mostly deserted parking lot outside a bank. He then undid the seatbelt and started to unfasten the straight jacket. "I had to psycho-nap you because Claire's the only one who can sign your crazy ass out of the hospital right now, and she's kind of in big shit trouble."

"What are you talking about?" Chris asked, wincing as Jake roughly yanked his arm out of the jacket.

"I got a phone message that I know you got too, but you were too unconscious to check your phone."

"They confiscated it because..." Chris stopped himself. _Because I would stare at it for hours and look at my pictures of Piers – the only thing I have left of him. Why didn't they just let me fall so I can be with you again?_

"Well, anyway. They didn't go to fucking Florida," Jake grunted as he finally got Chris out of the straight jacket. The older man flexed his fingers and arms to get the blood flowing properly again. "They're being held captive in Edonia by Steve Burnside."

"Steve Burnside...?" Chris echoed, frowning at Jake in the limited light.

"Yeah. I guess he's another one of my father's legacies. Thanks Dad," Jake muttered sarcastically, looking at Chris long and hard. In this light, he looked even worse than he had laying trussed up in his hospital bed. He questioned whether it was a good idea to even bring him along for this obvious trap, but at the same time... it was Chris Fucking Redfield. He was the boogeyman as far as BOWs were concerned. He was the monster under the bed of the monsters. He'd gone up against some of the worst that biological evolution had to offer and come out on top. It wasn't the BOWs that had destroyed him – it was the loss that they caused. The loss of the men under his command, the loss of Jake's own father, despite the dysfunction of their relationship, and the loss of his great love.

Jake knew that even if Chris looked like complete shit, he'd done the right thing by stealing him from the loony bin. Even if he couldn't fight anymore and must have been at least 50 pounds lighter than he'd been before Piers died, Chris would serve as a future portrait of what Jake could become if something happened to Sherry.

"Here." Jake reached into a small pack that had been hidden at the small of his back under the scrubs. "I brought your pills." He also pulled out his cell phone. "We'll pick up supplies in Edonia. It's _so_ a trap, but I don't care. I'm going to kill that fucker." He handed Chris the phone, hitting play on the video message.

"Hello Mr. Muller, Mr. Redfield. I've never had the pleasure of meeting either of you, but that shall change soon," a voice said over the image of Claire, Jill, Sherry and Rebecca tied up in a bright white room. "But, we've been close a couple times, Chris. And I knew your father very well, Jake." The image shook and shifted to close in on the face of an extremely attractive man with red hair and a slow and sexy smile. Before Piers, he would have been just Chris's type, except for the glimmering red eyes that were filled with unbalanced evil. They curdled Chris's blood as he remembered them watching over him at his first failed suicide attempt. "This message is to extend you an invitation to Edonia. The same facility where you had your little hissy fit, Chris. You can't even slit your wrists right. I don't know what Albert saw in you." Steve shook his head, grinning fully enough to now show his vampire-like fangs. "This time I will leave the door open for you, so you don't have to start crying again. But you better hurry. I'm giving the ladies a fighting chance, and they are tough. But they are only _human_, so I don't know how long they'll last against my employees. So, please hurry. I may also have a few surprises up my sleeve for you. See you soon."

"So... you're in, right? You _do_ want to help save your sister, right?" the redhead asked after Chris had been silent for a long time.

Chris stared at Steve's paused face, his mind working slowly. His thought processes were still sluggish from the drugs wearing off in his system. "Why didn't Jill get BSAA backup besides Rebecca?" he wondered out loud.

"Probably because a whole army of your soldiers would spook this freak?"

"They should have found something at that facility after we were there..." Chris shook his head, stomach dropping. "Unless there's a mole." He hated the idea that anyone in the BSAA could be compromised, but money did talk, and could make even the most honest seeming person turn tail.

"Well, shit..." Jake trailed off. "I know where we can get guns in Edonia. Lots of them." He frowned at the older man. "Am I going to be able to even let you have a gun?"

"Until Claire is safe, you don't have to worry about me. But, once this is over, don't try to stop me."

Jake shrugged. "If you're that keen to die, I'll put the gun in your hand myself."

"Let's go then," Chris said, as if it was nothing. As if his sister wasn't facing certain death. As if this was something he had to face every day. But really... it was. In his mind, he'd never left hell. He was still walking through it, and this was just a change of scenery. And after he saved Claire, he would finally end it.

* * *

Piers panted as he fell out of the air duct like some sort of liquid. His whole body ached, and some of his seams had ripped open so he'd left a thin, smeary trail of blood through the air ducts, along with an even bigger trail of sweat that was leading the wailing creature right to him.

Piers still hadn't seen the thing, but just from the sounds it made, not only from its wailing, but from the strange clacking, wet noise it made as it moved through the ducts behind him, he didn't want to. He panted heavily to catch his breath, coughing as a horrid stench entered his nose. He looked around the room, covering his nose and mouth when he saw the bodies piled up around him. They all looked like they'd been dead for a while, and they were all rank. Maggots, flies and other insects crawled over some of the tangled limbs, the bodies piled on top of each other on metallic slabs, like they were garbage. Like they were nothing.

Piers tried to ignore the sad, terrible scene around him, tried to ignore that a lot of these bodies had missing arms and legs, and had large patches of skin removed. Just like the injuries that he'd suffered at Steve's hands. He crept around the tables, not forgetting that the creature chasing him was still in the air ducts somewhere. He still hadn't seen it, and he didn't want to.

As he moved across the room, he passed by some sort of metal cabinet where the surface was highly reflective. He couldn't help but stop and look at himself and the distorted reflection. He felt like an intruder in his own body, but he still visualized himself in his mind as he'd always been. The metal cabinet didn't give him a perfect vision of himself, but it gave enough detail that it disconcerted Piers. He touched his stomach and turned slightly, shocked at how skinny he actually looked. He'd always been a chubby kid, and had lost all that baby fat once joining the army, so to be this small seemed alien.

His ever-perceptive eyes saw a small, dirty mirror over a sink, and he went over despite heavy reservations. He didn't know if he wanted to see the full extent of the damage Steve had done to him, but Piers had never been one to back away from the truth. He had to rear away from the sink once he got close, swallowing down pure bile since there was no food in his stomach. There was a small amount of stagnant fluid stopped up, the sink's drain clogged up with what looked like putrefying bits of flesh. It stunk so bad that it made Piers's eyes water, but he still leaned forward to look at his own face for the first time in months.

His face actually looked familiar to him, but not because it was his own. It was because he looked like one of the poor, starved and haunted refugees that he'd helped throughout his career in the army and the BSAA. His cheekbones were hard angles, there were deep purple smudges under his eyes, and his eyes themselves had a burning, tortured look to them. The splits on his face where his human flesh had began to rip away to reveal monstrous mutations had actually healed fairly well through Steve's horrible electrical baths. There were still obvious seams, but they were pale and slightly shiny, like burn marks. As he tilted his face, they got more or less visible, depending on how the dim fluorescent light hit it. A few of the deeper ones were pink and he knew he'd have them forever. The deep pink scars got darker and deeper moving down the side of his neck, like the wax of a melted candle, disappearing underneath the lab coat he'd stolen from the locker.

Piers pulled back the coat, revealing his bare chest and shoulder. His collarbone, breastbone and ribs pressed hard against his skin. The scarring got thicker as it moved to his shoulder where he'd originally lost his arm. He sighed as he looked at the obvious seam where the regenerated arm joined the rest of his body. The skin texture was papery, and it looked ugly and gnarled. There was also heavy scarring on his now protruding ribcage, where his ribs had exploded through his skin. The scar still ached as if the broken bones were piercing through his skin even now.

A tear slid down his cheek, and not from the stench of the blocked sink. Piers had never really been vain, though he knew he was considered attractive. However, his appearance now left a lot to be desired, especially the grotesque arm. He covered himself back up with the lab coat, wondering what Chris would say when if he saw it. Piers wanted to be optimistic about seeing Chris again, but he had always been a realist, and knew it wasn't going to be easy to get out of here, and that Steve wouldn't just let him wander off scot free.

Piers closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the mirror, thinking of Chris. He knew that Chris definitely wasn't the shallow type, but Piers still wanted to be desirable to him, and right now he was so very far from desirable. He couldn't help the tears, feeling so lost and helpless and broken. God, he just wanted Chris's arms around him, to hold him and make him feel safe and loved. They'd spent so much of their time together apart that Piers briefly wondered if they weren't meant to be.

"No," he told himself, looking back up in the mirror and angrily wiping away his tears as if also wiping away doubt. Nothing had ever felt more right than when he and Chris had been together, when their hearts had beat together as one. "You may never be able to fire a sniper rifle again because of your fucking mummy gimp arm, and you may look like Freddy Krueger's assistant, but you're no fucking quitter, Nivans. Chris needs you." He stared at his reflection hard. "Your captain needs you, soldier."

He yelped and jumped back when a caterwauling wail filled his ears as his pursuer came out of the air ducts, landing with a ticking of nails and the soft plop of flesh. Piers was frozen in fear and horror when he finally saw the thing. He tried to look away because this monster wasn't something he wanted to scrutinize, but his mind had always paid attention to every detail, and it wouldn't ignore what it was seeing.

The creature still looked definitely human and definitely _wrong._ She'd once been a woman, but Piers didn't know if he could still call her that. She had the same mummified looking skin that Piers had on his own arm, but it was across most of her body. She walked on all fours, her relatively small breasts hanging down with blackened, diseased looking nipples nearly brushing the floor because of the extreme bow of her stretched back. Her arms had also been stretched beyond normal proportions, but still looked human enough to be unsettling and grotesque. Her fingers had also stretched into long, spindly grippers with sharp talon-like nails at the end. They clicked on the floor like a dog's nails as she reared her head and turned in each direction.

Piers couldn't help the noise that escaped him when he looked at her face. She immediately turned towards him and let out that blood curdling moan. The skin had been stretched back from her face by nails and rivets that held a metal helmet on her head, covering the upper half of her head and down over her eyes with holes for her ears. Her nose, ears and lips had been removed, making her look even more like a mummy. Her teeth had been sharpened and glinted with metallic edges, a mixture of mutation and torture. Her wail sounded like pure pity and pain, but Piers couldn't feel sorry for her because she was now coming towards him with surprising speed.

He started moving backwards and slammed into one of the metal tables hard enough that it skidded across the floor with a loud bang, a few stinking bodies falling on the floor. Piers stepped on a soft, squishy arm that was so rotten that it burst under his foot and caused him to slide and yelp loudly, tumbling into the twist of dead bodies. The creature wailed again, rushing towards the pile. Her sharp nails sliced through the corpses, trying to get at Piers. The noise it made was dreadful, and Piers had to scuttle away to avoid getting his leg severed. He wound up kicking the table, which immediately caused her to rear her terrible head towards the sound.

Piers gulped down his panting breath, trying not to make a noise as he skirted around the perimeter of the room. Because of the tables, he still was very close to the hellish creature. He worried that even the smallest breath would direct her attention away from the bodies at her feet that her elongated arms were now elbow-deep in. A loud scream and crash from outside caused both Piers and the mutated woman jerked their heads towards the noise. With the distraction, Piers made a break back towards the air ducts, not knowing if what made that cacophony in the hallway would be worse than what he was already facing.

As he tried to silently rush to the air ducts, he tripped over a tangle of stained, stinking fabric, banging into the wall. It caused him to involuntarily grunt and disrupt a table with metal instruments and containers on it.

The woman reared her metallic and flesh head towards the sound, lunging with odd, disturbing grace. Piers pursed his lips to bite back a curse when he realized that he was backed into a corner. She sniffed around, panting and groaning as she moved closer and closer to Piers. He closed her eyes, wanting to think of Chris's earnest, honest eyes as he died, instead of looking into the woman's terrible face.

_I'm sorry Captain. I wish I could have been there to protect you a little longer, baby. I hope you know how much I love you_, he thought to himself as he braced himself for the end once more, knowing facing death would be harder this time without knowing Chris would be safe.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Notes:**

Warning - this is a brutal, ugly chapter. I apologize that this chapter took so long to publish. Believe me, this story isn't going to be abandoned. I just had a REALLY bad spell. Once more, Chris mirrors myself. Except that he doesn't have the fear to let himself love like I do. The next chapter may also have a delay because I have an unexpected move coming up due to my mental health. I HAVE been thinking about this chapter a lot, though. And listening to the soundtrack that I've made for it. Whenever I write anything, I always pick out a playlist to get me in the right mood mindset. I'll list the playlist here, in case anyone wants to listen to the 'official' Hurricane Drunk soundtrack as they read the chapters.

01. Hurricane Drunk - Florence + The Machine (obviously)

02. Save Me From Myself - Sirenia

03. No More Good Guys - Skindive

04. Without You I'm Nothing - Placebo feat. David Bowie

05. Letter - From The Lost Days - Silent Hill 3 OST

06. Is Your Love Strong Enough? - How To Destroy Angels

07. Under Your Spell - Desire

08. Fuckmachine - Combichrist (This is SO Steve's theme)

09. Fight - Junkie XL

10. I Hate Love - Garbage

11. Long Hard Road Out Of Hell - Marilyn Manson

12. This Shit Will Fuck You Up - Combichrist

13. Survive - Lacuna Coil (this is also my personal anthem right now in life)

14. Public Pervert - Interpol

15. A Real Hero feat. Electric Youth - College

All songs can be found on YouTube.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

_"You are my fuck toy. You are a fucking toy. You get what you deserve. It's fucking beautiful."_

- "Fuckmachine" – Combichrist

_"Save me now, I'm at the reaper's door. Can't you see, you hold the key. To set my mind free."_

- "Save Me From Myself" - Sirenia

* * *

Jake reared his head when he heard a firm rap on the door. He'd been sitting sentry at the door, and slowly reached for the assault rifle that he had propped against the wall beside the chair. He'd been holding himself so stiffly that his shoulder cracked at the motion. His bright blue eyes narrowed as he peeked through the small sliver of the cheap, ugly curtain at the person knocking.

"Is this Sheva woman Hispanic looking with a killer ass?" Jake asked, rifle now pointed right at where her head was on the other side of the door.

"Chris...?" she called through the door.

"Yes, that's her," Chris murmured quietly, where he lay on one of the less than comfortable double beds, curled in a half ball. He didn't even have the energy to raise his head, and was somewhat glad for Jake's company, because he never asked if Chris was okay, and he didn't try to be friendly or sympathetic. But then again, his mere presence made Chris think of Albert...

Jake opened the door for Sheva Alomar, the assault rifle relaxed, but not completely lowered.

"You resemble your father," she said upon seeing Jake's face for the first time. "I won't hold that against you."

"Gee, thanks."

"May I come in?"

"Let her in," Chris insisted quietly.

"Oh, Chris!" Sheva exclaimed quietly, crouching beside the bed. Her lips were parted in sad horror. This was the first time that she'd seen him since his breakdown. The Africa division had gotten extremely busy dealing with the warlords getting their hands on some of Tricell's leftover BOWs and using them against each other. Africans have always been trying to tear themselves apart, and biological weapons just seemed to evolve that. The whole thing made Sheva very sad.

She barely recognized the man lying before her. Was this really the Chris Redfield who'd fought beside her against Albert Wesker, who'd steeled himself to kill the lover who'd betrayed him so thoroughly? Was this the man who'd had the gentlest eyes she'd ever seen, whom she'd had a crush on until she realized he was gay? Was this the same strong, stoic man who now looked like a breath would rip him in two, who looked like he'd stared straight into hell and it had irrevocably changed him?

"Don't," Chris murmured tiredly. "Did you bring the grenades?"

"Yeah. Someone had signed out the virus samples in the European branch, and I assume it was probably Rebecca Chambers, since she has the medical training to synthesize the virus."

"Do _you_ have the medical training?" Jake asked acidly, but still checking out her ass.

Sheva ignored him, sensing his gaze on her. "Josh and I synthed them, and made them micro-sized, so you can smuggle them through even a metal detector. I was a little too worried about asking someone else, especially if there are spies in BSAA. Lord, I hate to think it..." She started to reach out to touch Chris's hair, but stopped herself. He didn't even seem to notice her gesture. "We can come with you. Chris, you know this is a trap."

"I know, but I need you at BSAA's headquarters. I need a pair of eyes I can trust. I need to you and Josh to find the leak. If you can..." he paused as he slowly raised himself to a sitting position. It was a stiff, almost corpse-like motion. "If you can, we may be able to surprise Steve Burnside. Alexia was... lucky."

Sheva gave him a wry look. "It's not luck, Chris. You've killed a lot of Tyrants."

"The Veronica virus is a lot more evolved. It was a lot stronger. Alexia had just transformed, and the cold slowed the metabolism of the virus. Steve Burnside's had a _long_ time to bond with that virus. He'll be stronger than Wesker."

"You think he wants to continue Wesker's plan?" Sheva asked, looking over her shoulder at Jake, who was leaning against the wall.

"Why are you looking at me?" Jake asked defensively. "It's not like I ever met the fucking guy. Besides, wasn't his plan always something to do with world domination? How is this world domination? It's personal."

"Wesker was probably tutoring him for years, but... Wesker never made things personal," Sheva pointed out, now slowly pacing and tapping her chin with her index finger in thought. "Not unless you tried to get in his way."

"He made it very personal."

Sheva sighed. "I know. But it seemed like a greater design. I don't see the design here."

"Chris killed Steve's mentor. Steve wants revenge so he kidnaps people Chris cares about." Jake shrugged. "End of story."

"You think they were lovers?" Sheva asked.

Chris shrugged. "I don't care," he answered honestly. Tiredly. "All I know is that Claire's in trouble."

"You don't think he has feelings for Claire, do you?" Sheva asked. She'd never met Chris's sister, but he'd talked about her often, and with great affection, and she knew about what happened in Antarctica. "I mean, he did tell her he loved her, right?"

"He doesn't love her," Chris murmured. "The virus would have taken that away from him."

"So, all this is really just about trying to kill you?" Sheva asked. "Pretty elaborate."

"If that's the case, why did I get a message, too? He kidnapped Sherry because of _me_," Jake said darkly. There was an undercurrent of guilt in his voice that was barely there, but still noticeable, and it set him apart greatly from his father. Albert Wesker was never a man to feel guilt about anything. "I mean, I know that she and Chris have become friends, but he sent that message to me, too. He wanted me to see he had Sherry, and it's not because of the G-Virus. I've never met the fucking guy."

"Is it because of your father?" Sheva wondered.

"Obviously," he said back scathingly. "Just... why? Does he think that I'm like him somehow? Is he..." Jake trailed off, chuckling. "Is he _missing_ Wesker?"

"That actually makes sense," Chris said quietly, staring at his palms, at the scars bisecting his inner wrists. His life line seemed so tangled. He should have died so many times over and over again, and he always found a way out. Somehow... somehow he knew he would make sure he didn't come back this time. "Steve was still a teenager when he was changed. At 17, you're still trying to find yourself, and then to be altered so drastically... Wesker would have been a teacher, a parent. Steve would be vulnerable to the virus, and also to Wesker's charm. He would have been indoctorated. Wesker thought he was better than everyone else because he was 'evolved'. Steve would believe the same thing. The Veronica virus would have altered his thought processes, and the old Steve Burnside died when Alexia Ashford injected him. The creature that exists now is a monster now uncontrolled by a master."

Jake snorted. "All that therapy has made you very introspective. You think he's looking at me as a replacement?"

Chris raised his hands with a shrug. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Not really. The only thing that matters is that we get the girls back, and that he dies."

Chris laughed under his breath. It was a rattling, unpleasant sound that seemed anything but humorous. "For once, we're in complete agreement."

* * *

Steve's jaw clenched with impatience as he looked between the security monitors in the antechamber office before his private lab, and between the status monitors for the capsules within the lab. He lazily drew whorled patterns with a scalpel on Alexander Leary's inner thigh. The soft, delicate flesh was swollen and red from the scarification, blood pooling under his ass and the small of his back on the steel operating table. The scars that Steve was creating were part of a whole that covered all of Dr. Leary's skin. It had been a work in progress since he'd come to work for Steve, since Steve had seen the submission in him and manipulated it. The whorled patterns were an oddly beautiful offering of pain.

Steve moved the knife closer and closer to the underside of Leary's scrotum, staring at his erect penis with clinical thought. The way an artist would examine something before them that they had to draw. It was no longer a sexual object. It was a smaller part of a whole, a puzzle piece. With all the scarification and beatings and other such tortures that Steve had given his fuck toy, he'd never done any kind of damage to Leary's genitals.

"You have very nice genitals," Steve commented as he finished the curl of the last whorl. Leary's whole body was now a work of scarification art. "Perfect, actually."

Leary groaned in pleasure. The pain moved through his body in waves that would have debilitated most people, but it left him in a euphoric mess. He belonged to this monster, and loved it. He loved Steve wholeheartedly, and it blurred his logic where the Tyrant was concerned. If he'd never found someone to control him in that way he loved and craved, maybe he would have sensed the disinterested tone in Steve's voice, and known that it wasn't a good thing.

"I'd always considered that failure Nivans' genitals to be perfect, but realistically... he was too big. Every man of course wishes that he had a larger penis, but it wouldn't be authentic. Also, the piercings, even if removed, would leave permanent scarring. You may not have as much length or girth, but your penis is far closer to what I need," he murmured, gripping the base of Leary's erection.

"Hmm...?" Leary began to ask, then gasped as the knife that was just cutting his flesh, separating his genitals from the rest of his body. He tried to scream, to cry out, but was so shocked and debilitated by pain that was too much for even him to bear. He looked desperately up at his beloved master, who had such a lack of interest in him that it broke his heart. He knew that anything he thought about his role in Steve Burnside's life and plans had all been in his head.

Steve turned away from Leary, whose blood pumped from the hole where his cock and balls used to be at a frighteningly rapid pace, and stared at the penis and scrotum. He sneered a little at some internal thought process, and stood up. Blood had sloshed down from the operating table and left a bright red smear on Steve's shirt. He turned his back on Alexander Leary forever, who'd now found his voice and was screaming as he bled to death, alone and abandoned.

* * *

"God, this makes me wish I'd never applied for that fucking RPD job," Jill hissed, stomping on the throat of something that had once been a man. His neck, head and arms had stretched in the mutation, making him appear almost scarecrow or tree-like. One positive that Jill and Sherry discovered as they tried to make their way through the infested laboratory was that these particular mutations in the majority of the infected caused their bones to become very soft, so it made it quite easy to shoot, or even rip, off limbs. Their heads also caved in more easily than the zombies they were used to.

However, they of course weren't completely lucky with this discovery. Most of the infected did indeed have these spongy bones, but there were others that had obviously been infected at a different period of time, and they were quick and monstrously strong. They had also obviously been so mutilated by torture before their infection that they were sad, pitiful creatures. It made Jill think of Lisa Trevor, locked beneath Arklay Manor for years, experimented on beyond the capacity for human pain or comprehension. But it was hard to pity something that was trying to take your head off in a LSD-like fit.

"I could have just kept working on getting my band off the ground," she muttered, scraping her boot across the dirty linoleum floor to get most of the brain matter out of the treads of her well-worn combat boots.

"You had a band?"

"Yeah. We wanted to totally be the next Hole. That's probably too old of a reference for you." Jill chuckled and pretended that it hurt when Sherry lightly punched her in the shoulder.

Sherry huffed. "Not everyone younger than you is completely sheltered, Valentine." She grinned wryly. "Who knew that you'd become as much of a train wreck as Courtney Love, but just in a completely different way."

Jill chuckled again, and it felt oddly good considering what a shitty situation they were in. "I bet if we had her here right now, the zombies would run away from her."

"Or they'd have a contest to see who was more diseased."

Jill pursed her lips to keep from laughing loudly. All laughter and smiles then completely vanished when they heard a metallic scraping around them, and the sound of thudding. Sherry silently pointed above her, her augmented hearing catching the direction of the noise. It was coming from within the air ducts. A few of the more advanced and unique mutations had found their way into the air ducts, and still had enough capacity to maneuver through them.

Jill nodded and stepped away from Sherry, walking backwards a little down the too bright hallway, her gun trained on the air duct opening the entire time. Sherry moved back in the other direction, her gun also steadily aimed. They waited a few tense moments as the scraping and bumping continued, then completely stopped. They could only hear their own pulse in their ears as they strained to pick up any noises from within the air duct.

Both women then jumped but recovered quickly when the grating was blasted off from within. The crunched metal flew out into the hallway, banging against the wall so hard that it embedded itself within the drywall. The silence that stretched on afterwards caused both their hearts to race faster. They both tensed and jerked when a creature came flying out of the duct with such speed that they were both caught straight-legged when it lashed out with razored talons in Sherry's direction.

She didn't even realize that she'd been cut until the blood dripped down her arm at a rapid pace. She and Jill both ducked as bullets from Jill's gun pinged off the creature's back and ricocheted into the walls. "I'm going to flip him!" Sherry shouted over more gunfire. The thing looked like a licker, but the steel back piece had mutated flesh popping with tumors growing up over it, which suggested that the piece had been fused on pre-infection.

Before Jill could protest, Sherry slid across the floor so she could get underneath the mutant's spindly, grossly elongated limbs. The tiles were made even slicker by her blood, and when she slid, sharp pain shot through her cut arm. She didn't want to think about how bad it was. She could worry about that when they weren't seconds away from getting killed. Though the monster was fast, its thought processes obviously weren't, because Sherry's motion confused it. She kicked up as hard as she could into what used to be his or her chest. The ribcage gave way with a loud crunching sound, and it was rolled over on its back. It flailed and tried to right itself, but Jill was quick on the uptake and unloaded her magazine into the soft, now caved-in underbelly.

The noise it made in its death throes was heinous, and both women had to cover their ears. When Sherry raised her injured arm, she let out a scream of her own. When she looked down at her bicep, she could see muscle and bone through the cut and the rip in her shirt.

"Shit," Jill hissed, crouching beside Sherry. "Those muscles are severed."

"It will heal," Sherry grit out.

"Maybe so, but we should still find a quiet place so you can rest and let that happen." Jill helped Sherry to her feet, and they checked for an unlocked door. Sherry used her good arm to cover with her gun. "Here," she whispered, leading Sherry into a dark room.

"A computer!" Sherry exclaimed. Jill found a light switch that illuminated part of the room.

"You sit down," Jill ordered, gently pushing Sherry's shoulders down onto a vinyl padded bench. She locked the door behind them, and kept her gun close as she leaned over the computer. "Okay... we should find Claire and Rebecca." She looked over her shoulder. "How long will it take to heal?"

Sherry grimaced, a fiery itch rolling up and down her arm. "Maybe ten minutes? It's not exactly an exact science when you're the only one of your kind."

"Are you worried about mutation?" Jill asked quietly. The G-Virus was never something that Jill had brought up around the other woman.

"Always," Sherry answered. "The G-Virus is still recessive to my human DNA, and I know I'm not a Tyrant, but... but..." She shook her head. "There's always that 'what if'. What if I get hurt enough that the G-Virus has to mutate me to keep itself alive? What if I just spontaneously change? What if I become like Wesker or Steve Burnside...?"

"You're a good person. Wesker never was."

"Apparently Steve was a good person, but look at him now."

"That was also Wesker's influence," muttered Jill as she searched for the security camera feeds.

"Was it...?" Sherry asked, then jerked her head up when she heard a very quiet noise. Judging by the fact that Jill hadn't reacted meant that only Sherry's augmented hearing picked up the subtle metallic sound mixed with a whimper. "Jill..." she whispered, slowly rising to her feet. She cradled her healing arm under her breast as she slowly rose from the bench and went towards the light switches on the wall.

Jill looked over, eyes narrowing at the look on Sherry's face. "You hear something?" she mouthed.

"Over there," Sherry mouthed back. "Someone's in here."

Jill trained her gun into the dark part of the room as Sherry flicked the lights on. "Oh my God," the younger woman breathed, feeling dizzy.

The reason that she'd only heard a tiny noise was because part of the room was separated from them by a glass viewing window. Within looked like a medical room, where there was the figure of a human man suspended from the ceiling by hooks that tented his flesh. His fingers looked broken and burned, and his face was obscured by some sort of burlap mask.

"Can you tell if he's infected...?" Jill asked, staring in horror at the man. There were tubes running to containers and machines on the side counter. Tubes disappeared under the burlap, and were attached to an IV in his arm. He also appeared to have a catheter, and a tube from above dripped water onto the burlap, waterboarding the suspended man.

"I... God, I don't know." Sherry squared her shoulders. "Keep that gun on his head. I'm going to go in and check."

"Uh, no. You're already hurt. I'll check."

"Jill."

"Sherry," Jill said back. "Me and Chris have done this shit lots of times. I'll be okay."

She sighed, but knew Jill could handle herself. She used her good arm to train the gun right in the center of the burlap. When Jill pressed the button to slide open the door, he jerked, obviously awake. Once the door opened and Jill began to move forward, she had to recoil from the stench. "Jesus!" She covered her nose, but slowly moved forward.

At the sound of the strange voice, the man whimpered and jerked. The motion caused him to sway from the hooks on chains. Sherry swallowed back vomit as the smell of chemically burned flesh punched her in the face.

"It's okay," Jill said quietly to the man, taking her hand away from her mouth. Her eyes watered, but she didn't let her aversion to the stench show in her voice. "I'm not here to hurt you."

A muffled moan came from underneath the burlap. Sherry stepped into the room, her eyes also now watering. But it wasn't only from the smell. "He's not infected," she whispered, looking at the chains. They looked corroded from a liquid dripping down them from the ceiling. She looked up and saw there were containers of acid above each chain, and that the flesh around the hooks was blistered and an ugly raw red. This person had been tortured. And judging by the amount of urine in one of the bottles on the counter, it had been for a while.

Jill mouthed a few curses. "Can you hear me? My name is Jill, and I'm here with my friend Sherry. We're going to help you down, okay?"

"We need something to support his weight," Sherry said quietly. She rubbed her itchy arm and looked around. The arm was sore, but the muscles had knit together already. It would be stiff, but usable. "Here." She jogged over to a steel instrument table in the corner of the room, and wheeled it over. It was small, but then could at least put it under his knees.

Jill winced as she looked at the smelly, wet burlap around the victim's face. It blew out and caved in with each of his panted, terrified breaths. The thing was stapled to his face, and the blood dribbles around the wound were old enough to show it had been there for a while. "I'm so sorry, but I'm going to have to pull out these staples, okay? Then I can remove this mask and you can breathe. Just keep your eyes closed from the light. Can you hear me?"

He let out a hitching little breath that sounded like he was trying to speak. Jill and Sherry both started to remove the industrial staples as quickly as they could. The prisoner whimpered and his body trembled as he cried. Some had gone right into the bone and were very hard to remove. They both knew they were causing him more pain and hated to do it, but did it as fast as they could.

"Okay, they're all out," Jill murmured gently into the man's ear through the burlap. "Sherry, get that water hose so he'll be able to have a proper drink."

Sherry nodded and watched as Jill removed the sack. "Jesus," Sherry breathed out when the man's face was revealed. Keeping his eyes shut wasn't going to be a problem, as they were sewn shut. So was his mouth, so Sherry was unable to give him a drink. She did however gently cup some water and roll it down the sides of his face where the staple wounds were, cleaning them. "We are _so_ going to kill him."

The man tried to speak, but all that came out was a wheeze.

"Shhh," Jill comforted. "We're going to get you down from here, then we'll open your eyes and mouth. And don't worry... we will make sure Steve pays."

"Hang on... we can't touch those hooks." Sherry started looking through drawers, coming up with a pair of neoprene gloves that smelled of acid and talcum powder. "There's only one pair."

"You work on the chains. I'll help support his weight."

Sherry nodded and began the grim task of freeing the poor man from his painful restraints. He cried out as she lifted his leg to loosen the skin, and then threaded the thick hood from out of the flesh just above his ankle. She did the same to hooks in his calves and thighs, then she and Jill lowered his leg onto the metal instrument table. Jill kept it sturdy with one leg so it wouldn't roll away.

The second leg was done in much the same fashion, but required more twisting from Jill to try and keep his weight up and not rip the skin around the other hooks. She got her shoulders under his thin pelvis as Sherry worked on the back hooks. His pelvic bones and rib cage dug into her. Obviously the intravenous drip hadn't been giving him much in the way of sustenance. Last came the hooks in his arms and the back of his neck and shoulders. Once freed, he slumped into Jill's arms like a marionette with the strings cut.

Gently, she and Sherry lowered him to the floor. Both women and the prisoner were now covered in sweat, and he whimpered through his sewn lips when Jill's arm brushed his back as she put him on his side.

"I'm sorry," she apologized gently, finding her hunting knife. "Now... please don't move, even if you feel something against your face, okay? I'm going to get your mouth and eyes open. You can then have a drink of water."

The man shivered in what must have been a form of a nod. Jill slowly and carefully used the tip of her knife to cut into the sutures that were sewn into his flesh. First she cut open his mouth, and Sherry dribbled some water into his mouth. He drank it down greedily, whimpering and shivering. As Jill began to carefully cut open his eyes, Sherry looked at the tubes coming out of him, making sure that they would be safe to remove.

"I'm done," Jill whispered. "Don't try to open your eyes just yet, though. The light's pretty bright in here. My friend Sherry is going to take out some of the tubes in you."

He shivered again, and his fingers crawled across the floor in the direction of Jill's voice. He let out a pained scream as the catheter was removed. Jill bridged the gap between herself and his hand, holding it tightly between both her own as Sherry removed everything else as gently as possible.

He began to quietly cry, squeezing Jill's hand as hard as he could. Though weak, his bony fingers were strong around her own. Jill kept holding his hand, letting him cry and feel the comfort of another human being. It must have been something he hadn't experienced in a long time.

"I'll check the computer," Sherry whispered into Jill's ear.

The older woman nodded, not wanting to leave this man in his most desperate of hours. Sherry began to look up how they should exactly cover or try to treat the acid burns at the same time that she scanned the security cameras. She began searching around for any alcohol or anti-bacterial soap, which were aided in the treatment of sulphuric acid burns, but saw something on the cameras that made her heart skip a beat. "Jill!" She called, rushing to the room. Jill still sat on the floor, but now the man's head was in her lap, and he wept quietly.

"What is it?"

"I just saw Chris and Jake on the monitors. Looks like they're just entering the upper facility."

Jill shook her head bitterly. "God damn you, Chris. You know this is a trap. Why do you always have to be so stupidly noble?"

* * *

"We're going to run out of ammo if we just stay here!" Rebecca shouted as Claire fired into the face of one of the diseased creatures. They just seemed to be coming out of nowhere, and the two women had to step over fallen bodies and pools of gore and flesh bits to avoid getting cornered.

Claire quickly looked around, her blue eyes scanning and momentarily resting on the elevator. "Cover me," she shouted over the gunfire and the wet sound of one of the creature's heads exploding from Rebecca's bullet.

"Whatever you're doing, do it fast hon," Rebecca hissed, ducking as one monster swung an arm where the bone had sharpened to almost a blade, so close to decapitating her that it cut some of her short hair. She fired into his armpit and blew the arm straight off his body.

Claire fired a couple of bullets into the fray, then dashed over to the elevator. She groaned as she tried to pry the doors open, her arms exhausted from all the gunfire recoil from her shotgun. But, in true Redfield fashion, she pushed herself past the normal point of exhaustion, her neck tendons straining and a line of spittle dripping from her open mouth as she groaned and pushed it open. The elevator was not there, and Claire used her legs to help keep the elevator door open and looked up, then down. The car was about ten feet below them. "Hurry, Becca!" she shouted, groaning as the doors tried to close on her. She kicked against them, using her back and powerful legs.

Rebecca laid down a suppressing fire and ran as fast as she could to the doors. Claire nodded down and Rebecca jumped into the black opening, getting her arms around the thick cables. She pulled herself down a few feet, then jumped the remaining seven, crouching immediately so she wouldn't hurt her legs or lose her balance. Claire quickly followed, shimmying down the cable. When the doors slid shut, they were engulfed in blackness. The sound of the mutated creatures banging against the closed doors, and it echoed ominously all around them.

Rebecca turned on her flashlight, aiming it upwards. So far there was no sign that the infected would get through, but they couldn't bank on that. She then traced the top of the elevator car with her light, seeing the door. She put the light between her teeth and crouched down, flipping the door open. Inside the car was dimly lit, but at least the lights were on.

"If it doesn't run, we can at least pry the doors open to this floor."

Rebecca nodded, aiming her gun in the car as Claire jumped in. She immediately had her Ithica pointed at the doors, listening for any kind of noise. She nodded for Rebecca to come into the cab, too. Rebecca began to lower herself down, and wound up falling on top of Claire as the elevator started up. She groaned, rolling off the other woman as she rubbed her stomach. She'd definitely have a bruise on her stomach in the shape of a shotgun barrel.

"Are we going up or down?" Rebecca asked, slowly catching her breath and rising to her feet.

"Down," Claire answered grimly, immediately getting in a shooting stance and slowing her breathing.

Rebecca also got in a shooting stance, the descent seeming to last forever. The temperature also seemed to drop as they went to the unknown. When the car stopped, both women nearly screamed in tense anticipation. The doors slowly slid open to a brightly lit room. Both women exited the elevator, guns trained straight on the man standing front and center in the room, casually leaning against a shiny steel countertop.

Rebecca and Claire didn't even ask Steve Burnside to freeze. Both of them immediately started firing at him. He moved with speed that they hadn't even seen from Albert Wesker. Before Rebecca could react, she was airborne. Steve's fist had connected hard with her jaw, and it felt like she'd been hit by a train. She slammed into the wall head first, hearing something crunch. It could have been either her jaw or her neck, but she couldn't be sure because everything immediately went black.

Claire fired the gun right into his chest, but he moved just at the last moment so the buck shot hit him in the shoulder. It didn't even seem to phase him, though. The shotgun flew out of Claire's hands and landed uselessly across the laboratory. Steve's hand then clenched around her jaw like a vise and slammed her against the steel island in the center of the room.

"Long time no see, Claire."

"Why are you doing this?" Claire shouted in his face, punching at him. Her nails raked down the side of his neck, but he only slightly winced, as if being bitten by a mosquito.

"Did you ever think of me after you abandoned me?" he asked conversationally.

"Of course I did," she ground out. He held her jaw so tightly that it was hard to speak.

"You saved my life, you know?" he murmured, turning her face left and right to examine her. As he moved her head, Claire got a glimpse of the room. There was a dead man, his body held in stiff, terrified rigor mortis. She realized it was Dr. Leary, his entire lower body covered in blood, a gaping hole where his genitals should have been. She also saw Rebecca laying motionless and her eyes filled with tears. "If you and your fucking brother had saved me, like you'd promised initially, I would have been doomed to a lifetime of human mediocrity."

When her head was turned the other way, Claire's eyes widened, and the tears that burned her eyes slid down her cheeks. She saw what Steve had been working on. She saw why such a lab had been created under the Edonia facility.

"I would have ignorantly lived as a subspecies. You are the snake that convinced me to eat the apple, Claire. You gave me knowledge. You gave me purpose, and a mentor. And your brother took that all away from me."

"Is that what this is all about...?" she asked thickly, unable to stop looking at the creation in the cryogenic tube. "Trying to ruin my brother?"

Steve chuckled. It was a dark sound that both chilled her and went deep into her skin like a seductive whisper. He turned her face back to him so she was forced to look into his pitiless red eyes. "He's already doing that all by himself, don't you think? All because of one little twink? True, Piers had a nice big dick, but all in all, he was very garden variety."

"Was...?"

"I introduced Piers to a new lady in my life, after his uses ran out. Stephanie's a much better match than you ever would have been. You're too... _righteous_, but without any real superiority to support it."

"You fucking bastard!" Claire shouted, kicking him in the kneecap as hard as she could. She then kneed him in the crotch. He'd been enjoying using his words to torture her, so she caught him off-guard. He stumbled and groaned, and she bit his wrist as hard as she could. The blood that spurted into her mouth tasted smoky and ugly. She struggled away from the surprised Tyrant, running straight for the shotgun. She tried not to think of that sweet yet brash boy who'd transformed so horribly but had stopped himself from killing her. He'd told her he loved her as he died, and he'd put his zombified father out of his misery. Was there anything left of that boy...?

She cried out as she was tackled from behind. She may as well have been struggling against a rhinoceros for all the good it did. She wound up on her stomach underneath Steve, pressed so firmly to the ground that it was hard to breathe. Her face was pressed to the ground so hard that she felt her cheekbone and jaw crack from the pressure. She wound up facing where Rebecca had been thrown. The other woman was slightly moving, but looked very dazed. At least her legs seemed to be functioning.

Claire would have sighed in relief that Rebecca was okay, but her whole body went into fight mode when she felt Steve's hands ripping at her pants, his pelvis pressing down against her ass in that way that every woman seemed to instinctively fear. She began struggling in earnest, which just earned her a hard slap in the back of the head. Steve then knocked her chin off the floor hard enough that she felt a couple of her teeth break. She had to spit them out to avoid swallowing them. The taste of blood and adrenaline filled her mouth.

"I wanted to fuck you _so bad_," Steve hissed in her ear as her jeans ripped away like they were made from wet tissue. "Back when I was stupid and human, of course. Now it will be like fucking a dog, but I do hate your brother." His voice slithered into her brain, and all her struggling and fighting was doing nothing. She wailed through bloody, clenched teeth when he viciously entered her with a powerful thrust that ripped her open. "And your... humiliation is all the foreplay I need," he breathed as he thrust into her again and again. He yanked her legs wider and pounded her so mercilessly that one of her hip joints popped out of place.

Claire's mind began to shut off what was happening to her, tried to ignore Steve's laughter in her ear as she looked at Rebecca, who was looking back at her with a glazed look on her face, blood trickling from a wound within her hair. But, the tear that trickled down her cheek showed that she was aware enough of what she was watching, and she could only watch as Steve raped her friend. Claire tried to fight him off again with one last surge of adrenaline, but he punched her in the back so hard that her legs went numb. "When I'm done here, I'll _rip _your asshole open. And then I'll leave you to die. Just like you left me."

She went numb and just looked in Rebecca's eyes, tears of pain and embarrassment pooling under her broken cheek. She felt Steve ejaculate inside her. It burned her torn vagina. It burned her heart. But then everything went red with agony when Steve made good on his promise and sodomized her with only her own blood as lubricant.

_I loved you. I mourned you every day, Steve. I saw your face in my dreams, and woke up crying because I couldn't save you. Is this my punishment? Is this all my fault? Just like Chris's death will be my fault?_

Claire began to weep, and not only because of the pain. She wept for Chris, knowing that he would come for her, and he would die. Maybe he would finally get to be with Piers again. Piers... someone else she'd been unable to save.

Steve came into her bleeding, ripped rectum, punching Claire in the back of the head enough to give her a heavy concussion. "Stop your whimpering. It's such a fucking turn off." He kneeled by her face and degradingly wiped his blood-covered penis off with her hair. "You know what happened while you were crying like a bitch? Your brother showed up. You think he takes it up the ass with more sport than you do?" he asked acidly, doing up his pants. "I should have asked Piers before Stephanie killed him. Now, Stephanie? _There's_ someone who took it like a bitch."

Everything blurred and smeared in Claire's head, her brain aching. Her pelvis and genitals and ass aching. Her soul aching.

"But, look at my manners. Chattering away to you while I have a guest." He kicked her in the face on his way out, breaking her jaw in another place. "One Redfield down. One to go."

* * *

"Which way?" Jake asked as he and Chris descended into the laboratory proper from the upper house. The door had been left wide open, as if welcoming them. It didn't bode well. He touched his back pocket, where there was a decorative plastic pill box. He had to admit that Sheva and this Josh person did a great job with the grenades. They were small enough that they could be disguised. Chris's were painted to resemble the color of his effexor pills, and Jake's looked like breath mints. He couldn't help wanting to check that they were still there.

Jake had been in this kind of situation before, but he was... well, he was fucking scared. He was scared for Sherry, and scared for himself. Steve Burnside sounded worse than anything he'd ever faced before. Steve would be somewhat like facing down his own father. That thought was enough to make Jake sweat just a little more. He looked at Chris's profile, expecting him to be a complete basket case, but he was eerily calm. _Fuck, Jake. If that whack-a-doo is fucking calm as hell, why are you so scared?_ But, to be honest... Jake was sure that he'd be even more scared than he was now if he knew Chris Redfield was coming to kill him.

Chris looked up to the ceiling, shotgun held at the ready. There were a pair of security cameras looking down at them. Steve would know they were here.

"It doesn't matter which way you choose," a voice said with dark seduction, with the promise of velvety pain. Steve stepped out from around the corner, hands casually behind his back. He wore a tight grey t-shirt and worn-in jeans. He was barefoot, and his auburn hair was tousled in a 'I just had sex' kind of way. He knew exactly what he was doing, making himself look desirable to Chris. It may have worked if Chris's heart hadn't so thoroughly belonged to Piers. It may have worked if it weren't for that horrible, sadistic look in his burning red eyes.

"Where are they, freak?" Jake asked, aiming his gun right between Steve's eyes.

He rolled those monstrous eyes. "Don't be a hypocrite. You certainly didn't inherit your father's charm."

"We're here," Chris said quietly. "What do you want with us?"

Steve chuckled, flashing his fangs. His smile was as cold as a cobra's. "You're not as impressive as I thought you'd be. The first time I met you, you were slobbering all over the floor like some crack head. And now you just look sad and old. I really have to wonder why Albert was so obsessed with you." Steve shrugged. "He said it was because you couldn't be underestimated as an enemy, but I think it's because he'd let himself fall in love with you. And that's fucking pathetic."

"Wesker couldn't feel love," Chris muttered, gritting his teeth. He wouldn't let Steve get in his head. He wouldn't.

"Well, whatever. You brought me what I really want, so I guess I do owe you for that. You are so... _beneath _me. I was going to fuck you like I fucked your sister, but you're really not worth my time."

"Claire..." Chris breathed out, his whole body going cold the way it always did when he knew he had to kill someone. But Steve moved so quickly that Chris barely even had time to try to fire a round from his shotgun. It went wide and embedded the wall as Steve gave him an uppercut that made everything spin and nearly caused him to black out. He was then off his feet, being picked up by the scruff like a naughty kitten. The punch caused everything to spin, so all Chris could do was try to get his bearings, but then he was ass over teakettle, falling down some kind of chute at a rapid pace, falling into unknown blackness.

"Now," Steve murmured, batting Jake's gun out of his hand. "You have something I want. And it isn't your bad attitude." Steve palmed Jake's face and slammed the back of his head against the wall, knocking him out. He gingerly picked up Jake's prone body, and carried him towards the elevator. "Have fun, Chris!" he called down the chute. He added "I won't miss you," under his breath.

* * *

Chris groaned, his head feeling like it was made of lead. His whole body ached, especially his shoulder. It was probably dislocated. He lay still, trying to get his bearings, trying to let his head clear. But some terrible stench and the feeling of water on his face brought things to painful clarity. He opened his eyes and saw that it was raining. Rain...? There was also smoke in the air. It wasn't rain, it was the sprinkler system.

Steve's words bounced around in his pounding brain, but were so jumbled they couldn't even form cohesive thoughts. His stomach felt in knots, and he rolled over because he felt like he was going to vomit. Chris gasped and let out a pained noise when his skin got cut, and the sound of crunching glass echoed all around him. He looked down at saw that he was laying in an inch of glass shards of various shades. There were pieces of jagged glass embedded in his forearm, and he was sure in other parts of his body. The vomit came almost instantly, and Chris gagged as his stomach revolted. The stench and the smoke in the room didn't help matters, and his throat burned as he threw up pure bile.

"Why are you fighting...?" he asked himself as he rolled away from the puke, groaning as more glass crunched under his back, ripping his skin. He used the side of his hand to clear a small space within the floor of broken glass so he could push himself up with his palm. He missed a few small crystals, and felt them dig into the heel of his palm. But the pain and the blood trickling from his wounds seemed to vanish as he looked at where he'd wound up.

The room essentially looked like a garbage dump with the floor completely covered in broken glass. The shards glistened with blood and other unspeakable things. However, this garbage dump was for humans. There were dead bodies tangled on top of dead bodies, so rancid they were almost liquid. There were people who were twitching as if they'd just died, missing arms and limbs. There were dead infected, their limbs and necks stretched in horrific, nauseating ways. The sprinklers were going off because there obviously had been some sort of fire that had smouldered out, but still smoked. The fire had started within a twisted pile of bodies, giving off the noxious stench that only came with burning flesh.

"Claire..." Chris whispered, his thoughts coming to clarity as sharp as the glass digging into his skin. He needed to find her. He needed to be there for her. She was depending on him. Chris rose to his feet, immediately swooning. He was so dizzy that he fell over, a large shard of glass cutting his cheek. Tears burned at Chris's tired eyes and he started crying, sobbing into the bloody glass. _What's the fucking point? You can't save anyone. Who have you ever saved, Chris? You could have saved Wesker. You could have maybe brought out some good in him. You could have saved Finn and the others. You could have saved Claire. You could have saved Piers. God, he did that to himself for YOU. And you pissed it all away by forgetting about him. You treated him like shit in China, and he still stood by you every second. You didn't fucking deserve it. Just give up._

There was a loud banging that Chris barely even paid attention to, too lost in his own grief. He just wanted to be with Piers again. He just wanted to stop _hurting_. He just wanted to look into Piers's beautiful hazel eyes once more. He just wanted to feel Piers's breath against his cheek. Just for one more second, even if it was just imagined in his last moment of life.

Chris jerked when he heard a wail of agony that mirrored what he felt inside himself. He reared his head up, cursing in shock and skidding backwards when he saw the source. It was a woman, if she could be called that. She walked almost like a dog through the glass with spindly, unnaturally long fingers and arms. The glass crunched as she scuttled around towards the sound of Chris's curse, heavy breathing, and the glass crunching under him as he backed away from her. She moved like a mummified, mutilated monkey with cancerous looking breasts swaying, her teeth flashing in her face, which was half covered in metal.

"Claire," he couldn't help but whisper. Obviously this woman had been tortured and formed at Steve's hands, and at the hands of the virus. Was this his sister's fate? Had she been destroyed like this creature? She moved towards him with horribly, spidery grace and speed, and he realized this was his chance. This was his chance to be with Piers again. This tortured, mutilated monster would give him the release that had been denied him three times earlier. The glass crunched under her uneven gait as he spread out his arms and closed his eyes, willing her to finally bridge the gap between Piers and himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes:** Happiness? What is this concept? This fic cannot compute it.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

"_Just one beat of your heart..." _

- "Is Your Love Strong Enough?" – How To Destroy Angels

* * *

Chris slowly breathed out, feeling calmer than he had since before Finn and the others had died. The last time he'd been this calm was the last time he'd been with Piers, not having to worry about war or the BSAA or BOWs or anything else. They'd only had to worry about each other, and how good it had felt to be together.

There was a loud bang that caused Chris to flinch, and then there were arms wrapping around him from behind. Warm, familiar arms. He hadn't felt any pain, so maybe he'd been decapitated. Maybe he'd been stabbed straight through the heart by that horrible, monstrous woman. It didn't matter, not when he could feel Piers's arms around him. Chris had imagined what he would say to Piers a million times, but now he didn't want to say anything. He didn't want to move. He didn't want this to end in case it was just a brief flash of nothingness before death.

"Don't make a sound," Piers whispered in his ear. His breath felt so real. It tingled his skin, and moved into his body, igniting his cold body into a semblance of function once more.

_Why would I want to?_ Chris asked, wondering if Piers could hear him. _I've never really believed in Heaven, but this must be it._

A loud, horrid scream cut through the light, free feeling that embraced Chris in the ghostly feeling of his dead lover's arms. The wailing echoed and continued, making grotesque music with the sound of crunching glass and something wet, like the ripping of thick fabric. There was a loud pitiable, pained scream afterwards that made Chris jerk and gasp. The pain in his body from the fall and all the broken glass began to wash over him, and his mouth was covered by a hand from behind.

"Quiet Captain," Piers whispered in his ear, the sound almost inaudible over the racket raining down around them.

Chris's eyes opened to see that he was still in that stinking, hellish glass-filled chamber. The woman was killing another mutated person, and Piers's chest rose and fell rapidly against his back. Chris could feel his heart racing, could feel his breath against the side of his neck. Chris could feel the warmth in the hand that covered his mouth. Breathing. It only took one beat of their hearts to move in tune with each other again. His heart was beating...

Alive.

Chris wanted to scream and rail as the world without Piers crashed and disappeared, colliding with the realization that Piers was here, breathing and holding him. But he was now frozen. His body and brain seemed unable to comprehend this change. Chris could only helplessly let those warm arms try to pull him to his feet. The glass crunched under them, and unfortunately that was the time that the creature stopped making noise, and the crunching seemed as loud as an airplane.

The water from the sprinklers stung his eyes, but he didn't dare blink. It got trapped between his mouth and the hand firmly clamped over it, but he didn't dare breathe. If he moved, everything would shatter around him like a cheap mirror. Even if the feeling of Piers was all in his head, he didn't want to lose it. Not even in the face of the monstrous woman that was now nearly on top of them.

She sniffed around, rearing her head up and tasting the air with her tongue like a dog or cat. The water, smoke and stench of rotting and fresh bodies seemed to block her sense of smell, and she let out a frustrated whine, clawing at the metal that covered the upper half of her head. She tilted her mummified looking head back and forth as it swayed in front of Chris, so close that her drooping breasts with their blackened nipples nearly brushed his chest. She sniffed the air around Chris for a few moments. It displaced his hair, and his lungs burned from holding the carbon dioxide in his lungs. His heartbeat raced in his ears, and he could feel the mirror of it pounding against his back.

She then focused long and hard just beyond Chris, her face turned towards the man behind him. She let out a growl that chilled Chris's blood, and then reared up and screamed, leaping away like some sort of spider. She scurried back into the air ducts, her whine echoing then vanishing, her senses apparently picking up the scent of different prey.

"Come on," Piers's voice whispered in Chris's ear, his hand dropping from his mouth. "She might come back, Captain."

Chris found that he couldn't react. His whole being had seized up. He felt his arm being tugged, and the bite of glass under his knees. His vision swam through the unshed tears and the water raining down from the sprinklers, and he saw Piers crouching in front of him, whispering his name. He looked just like he'd looked back before everything had started to go wrong in Edonia. His beautiful hazel eyes, his full mouth curled into a confident smile.

"Chris..." Piers whispered again, wrapping his hands around Chris's forearms. "You're ice cold. Chris, can you hear me?"

A sharp pain made Chris wince, and seemed to bring the haze around him into brief, sharp clarity. The face that he remembered faded, replaced by the truth. Piers still looked like Heaven, but that pair of lovely hazel eyes was now just one, a torn and bloody hole where his right eye should have been, nerves starkly and horrifically showing. That side of his face was also scarred from what he'd gone through. He'd also lost a tremendous amount of weight, and had that same haunted look about him that Chris saw every time he looked in the mirror.

Piers pulled his hands away after seeing Chris wince. He had a couple large shards of glass embedded in his palms, and hadn't noticed because of the adrenaline of seeing that thing bearing down on his Captain. He was pretty sure that Chris was either in shock or going _into_ shock, and that they had to get the hell out of here in case Stephanie came back.

Piers yanked the shards out of his skin, the pain so minimal compared to all the other things he'd suffered through that he didn't even flinch. It was disconcerting that Piers's hands nearly wrapped around Chris's waist as he hoisted the formerly built man to his feet. He felt so light and cold and fragile as Piers half dragged, half supported him towards the office that overlooked this rotten and glass cemetery.

When he'd been face-to-face with Stephanie, he'd thought that he would die without getting this moment to touch and see Chris again, but the stench of the room and his lack of movement born from terror had confused her senses. She'd gotten distracted by a noise out in the hall, and he'd been able to escape from the corner, but not without one of her clawed fingers slicing out blindly and catching his orbital bone and eye. It had severed the skin all around the eye and the eye itself, leaving the ball attached by only a few nerves and tendons, hanging down the side of his face. He'd wanted to scream from the agony and the sheer shock of immediately going blind on one side, but instead he'd dove under one of the tables. As she's screeched in frustration and her own level of fear, he'd covered himself with one of the stinking bodies that littered the room. She'd sniffed around for him for a bit, but had lost his distinct smell, and had her attention drawn elsewhere.

Piers had spent the rest of this time trying to find a safe place to hide, not only from her, but from all the other infected. He needed time to rest, to heal, and to get his bearings. He'd found this room with its sturdy locks, computer system, and air ducts that weren't connected to the rest of the facility. He'd known as soon as he got the injury that his eye was beyond saving, so he'd had to cut it off. It had been a painful experience that had seemed to transcend what he'd already experienced. Steve had so thoroughly mutilated him, but this time he was willfully mutilating himself again.

But, he was still alive, and his heart was still racing just from being in the same room as Chris. When he'd heard the crash from where he'd been standing in front of a mirror changing the bandage over his eye, he almost hadn't believed he was seeing Chris. He'd wondered if it was some sort of optical illusion after his trauma. It wasn't even because he looked so different. It was because it seemed too good to be true after all the hell he'd gone through.

"Chris?" Piers asked gently, getting some blankets and wrapping them around Chris's now shivering body after removing his soaking wet shirt. He gently lay Chris down on his side on the floor, rubbing up and down his back and arms to try to keep him warm. He also tried to remove shards of glass as gently as possible wherever he saw them. "Can you hear me?" he asked gently. He gripped Chris's hand with his bad one, stroking his other hand through Chris's hair. This isn't how he imagined his reunion with Chris, all those days on Steve's autopsy table, but they were together. They were both here. That's all that mattered.

It seemed that Steve hadn't only used this office as a viewing suite for the horrors in the room beyond, but it seemed to also be a bunker of some sorts. It was on a different power grid and air system according to the computers, and it made Piers wonder if Steve's personal lab was also on this same grid. Piers lay himself down on the floor beside Chris so he could look into his face. The blue tinge had lessened from Chris's lips, but Piers still tightened the blankets around him to keep the heat in. He also pressed himself flush to the other man, using his own body heat, and the comfort of closeness to calm him down and lower his heart rate and blood pressure. And quite frankly, Piers just wanted the comfort, too. All his personal connections had been under hands full of sadistic and hateful intent. Chris was Steve's polar opposite in every regard. And slowly, Chris began to squeeze Piers's hand back. The touch was gentle and caring that it made Piers's lips tremble. It was the first loving touch he'd had since wrenching his hand out of Chris's in that underwater lab. It had been his own decision to pull away then, but he would not pull away now.

Chris's free hand slowly slid out from under the blankets and his fingers brushed the right side of Piers's face. Instinctively, he turned the ruined side of himself away, knowing it looked... _bad_. Even worse now that his eye was gone, too. Chris's fingers gently pressed into the scarred flesh, turning his face back. His fingers touched the hollowed cheekbone and jaw, skirting past the torn flesh around Piers's eye without avoiding it. He touched Piers's face the same way he always had – making Piers feel like he was beautiful. Cherished. Adored.

Tears quickly welled in Chris's haunted eyes and trickled down the bridge of his nose, dripping into the blankets. "I've dreamed you so many times. If I blink and... if I blink and you're gone, I... I can't... I..."

"Everything hurts too much for this to be a dream, Captain," Piers whispered wryly, a grin on his cracked lips. But a bloody tear fell from his ruined eye, pooling against the side of his nostril, then dripping to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Chris whispered, voice cracking as the tears pressed against the backs of his eyes in full force. "That I... that I for-forgot..." he tried to say, but his voice got lost under the swell of so many emotions.

"Don't ever apologize for that," Piers said firmly, wiping tears from Chris's cheeks as they fell. "I knew you remembered. I saw it in your eyes, in the end."

"Then why did you stay behind?" he asked through his tears, a little angrily.

Piers smiled. The first real one in a long time. "To save your life, dumbass. That's what you do when you're in love with someone. You would have done the same for me, Chris. You know you would have. And then I'd be the one that was a big blubbery mess on the floor, and you'd be the one who needs an eye patch."

Chris let out a noise that was somewhere between a barking laugh of disbelief and a sob. "Never fucking do it again."

"Is that an order?"

"Yes."

Piers once again wiped tears off Chris's gaunt, stubbled cheeks. The scratchy feel of Chris's beard under his fingertips thrilled Piers right to his core and lit every inch of his skin alight with desire, even in such a moment. "If it meant saving your life, and it meant just one more heartbeat with you, I'd do it all over again." Piers pressed his forehead against Chris's.

"I love you," Chris whispered, his breath washing over Piers's lips. It hurt to say it, like the words were a splinter that had been causing him so much pain. Piers's mouth brushing against his, then sealed them together in a kiss was the soothing balm for the sting. Even after all they'd gone through, all the changes, their kiss still tasted the same. It tasted like a beautiful past that they'd never truly be able to recreate. It tasted like _now_, like this moment was always meant to happen, like Chris and Piers had been meant to walk these roads right from the beginning because they were meant to be. It tasted like a future, full of possibility and brightness like each rising of the sun.

"I love you too," Piers whispered back into the kiss. Or at least he tried to. Coupled with Chris's mouth on his and the messy tangle of emotions within him, the words didn't come out properly. But he knew that Chris knew. He knew in his heart that Chris knew, and he knew it in the way that Chris touched him and kissed him and held him a little bit closer.

Chris moved his mouth away from Piers's, and kissed the scarred side of his face, exploring these new facets of Piers with his mouth and fingertips. He stroked his arm, and the dried pitted texture of the skin. Piers couldn't help the gasp that escaped him. He was so self-conscious about those ruined, ugly parts of him, and Chris's touch would have made him fall in love with the older man all over again if his love wasn't already so completely encompassing him. He also couldn't help the tears that came, and the sob that tore from his chest.

He immediately tried to stop crying because he didn't want Chris to worry about him right now, but he just couldn't. Chris's arms always had felt like the safest place in the world for him, and safety felt almost scary and alien to him right now. He allowed some of the poison that Steve had put into him to leech out through tears and large sobs that caused his sore ribs to burn. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried like this – maybe after his father had died, the only parent he'd had after his mother had walked out. He'd cried like this, watching cancer completely eat the father that had always been his everything. His hero. His biggest supporter. After he'd cried himself out, he let in a big, snotty breath and looked at Chris, who had been crying, too. Piers wiped the tears from his face, inadvertently smearing blood across the bridge of his nose and left cheek from his eye wound. He then wiped tears off Chris's cheeks. "How did you know I was here?" he asked thickly.

Chris slowly stroked the sides of Piers's face. "I didn't. I thought you were dead." Reality hit Chris like a shotgun blast. "Claire..." he slowly sat up, the multitude of cuts on his skin protesting. His heart protested even more, because it meant separating parts of that skin from the touch of Piers's.

Piers also sat up, watching as Chris rose to his feet. He held back a wince as his ribs protested sharply. He plainly saw the worry on Chris's face. And the guilt. "Is Claire here...?"

Chris nodded slowly, Steve's words repeating in his head. _I was going to fuck you like I fucked your sister. I was going to fuck you like I fucked your sister. I was going to fuck you like I fucked your sister._

"Steve kidnapped her?" Piers asked, his joy also leaving him. He knew what it was like to be in the hands of Steve Burnside, and though he didn't know Claire well, he felt so connected to her because of his closeness with her brother.

"And Jill, Sherry and Rebecca, too." Chris shook his head, trying to push Steve's words out of his head and concentrate. "I still don't know why. I mean, I didn't even get his message because the hospital took away my phone..." he trailed off, looking at Piers. God, how to begin to try and explain what had happened to him in the past year...

"I know," Piers answered quietly as he rose to his feet. He limped, feeling like there was glass in his sole. "They were keeping tabs on you. Wesker and Steve, I mean. I know what you've been going through." He gripped Chris's thin wrists, stroking his thumbs over the razor scars. "You think I never thought about offing myself to get away from that bastard?" Piers's thumb then moved up the left wrist and over the tattoo that covered all of Chris's inner forearm. The tattoo that spelled out his name. He let out a small little sigh, but held back the urge to leap into Chris's arms like a lovesick schoolgirl. "Jill will take care of her."

"If she's still alive," Chris said helplessly. "We thought that it was all about revenge for me killing Wesker, but he only seemed to care about Jake. He threw me away like trash."

"Jake?" Piers echoed, pulling away from Chris and getting down to business. They'd have lots of time to touch each other in every way possible, because Piers would be damned if he was going to let Steve Burnside steal another second between them.

"He got the same message I did. He was the one who... well, he kind of broke me out of the hospital because I was doped up and... in a straightjacket," he mumbled into his chest, embarrassed. It sounded so... _crazy_.

Piers gave a wry grin that was almost a grimace. "You can have your straightjacket and I can have my gimpy mummy arm."

"Are you...?" Chris didn't want to really know the answer to that question, but it needed to be asked.

"It's dormant," Piers said matter-of-factly. "Like Sherry. My human DNA overwrote the virus. Though... I don't have her heightened senses anymore. The C Virus is a lot weaker than the G-Virus, and even the regeneration took a lot of hydro-electrical stimulation. To heal any major injuries now, stimulating the virus would take so much voltage it would actually kill me."

Chris's mouth became a thin, white line, and he knew he would rip Steve Burnside limb from limb. He started, quickly patting all his pockets. He tasted his heartbeat in his throat, wondering if he'd dropped the anti-BOW capsules in the fall through the chute. He sighed in relief when he felt the small box. He pulled it out of his pants pocket to check that they were still intact.

"What's that?" Piers asked, handing Chris a green scrub shirt that was in the medical locker. "Here. Not that I would mind you always being shirtless..."

"Anti T-Veronica mini grenades."

"You think they'll work?" Piers asked, finding that they were now both speaking in whispers, as if Steve's ears were everywhere.

"Better than not trying anything, sweetheart."

"You don't happen to have any other weapons, do you?" Piers asked, going back to the medical locker and getting the gauze and other items he'd set aside to dress his eye. He also pulled out some bandages and the suture set in case any of their cuts from the glass needed stitches.

"I lost the Ithaca..." he murmured, feeling the small of his back, where he felt the hilt of his combat knife. He then bent over and lifted his pant leg, where he had an ankle hostler with a Glock. He gave the handgun to Piers. "You always were a better shot than me."

Piers looked down at the gun. Somehow, it really made him feel more like himself. The cool weight of the metal seemed more real than the dreamlike reunion with Chris. "What did his message say?" Piers asked, putting the Glock on a counter as he sat on one of the stools.

"That he had the girls, and he wanted us to come after them. I have no idea how they even got here."

"But he took Jake...?" Piers asked, wincing a little as Chris began to clean around his eye wound.

"Sorry," Chris apologized, kissing Piers's forehead. "And I think so. I mean, Jake's infected, so maybe that's it? But, so are you, and Steve left you to die." His fingers stroked the line of Piers's jaw, words leaving him with a sudden swell of emotion. "And you're alive..." he choked out, voice cracking.

Piers wrapped his arms and legs around Chris, holding him tightly. Piers wanted to comfort Chris as he composed himself, but the embrace was also very selfish on his part. Ever since they first met, Piers always wanted to plaster himself all over Chris's body. Even with all that had passed, even though it had moved to love, Piers still felt like he was still in 'crush' mode with Chris, where his nearness and even the mention of his name made Piers's heart beat faster. It made him flush warmer and made his skin tingle. He felt Chris's heartbeat accelerate against the good side of his face, and he let out a long sigh. They still had a long way to go to be safe from all this, but that sigh seemed to expel the fear like the exorcism of a ghost. Chris gave him strength and confidence and love. God, he gave him _love_.

They broke apart after a few silent, perfect minutes where they forgot everything except each other and how it felt to be a part of each other again. Chris continued to clean and dress Piers's eye while Piers tried to hide that it hurt, no matter how gentle and loving Chris's care was. His mind also started to wander to Jake, and the fact that he was also infected, but his human DNA had evolved over and dissimilated the virus, like himself. Like Sherry. Steve had kidnapped Sherry, but didn't seem to want her in any sort of experiment, though the G-Virus was a vastly superior virus, and Sherry still retained strong regeneration, sense and reflex abilities. The only thing that made Jake Muller special was his bad attitude, and the Wesker DNA.

Piers slowly reached up and touched his shoulder, and the seam where his new arm was connected to his original, scarred tissue. He suddenly stiffened and took in a loud breath.

"I'm sorry, baby," Chris whispered, thinking the reaction was from him pressing the gauze into Piers's empty eye socket as he wrapped more bandages around his head. He absently squeezed Piers's shoulder and fastened the bandage. "There." When he saw the look on Piers's face, his blood went cold. "What?"

"Dr. Frankenstein..." Piers murmured, barely audible.

"What does that mean?"

"Steve..." Piers trailed off, the idea seeming so insane, but not insane enough for Steve Burnside. "He was taking body parts from me... and then he'd put me in the hydroelectric tank to regenerate when I still had that ability..." He shook his head, looking into Chris's eyes. "He's making a monster."

"... you mean Wesker?"

Piers slowly nodded.

"Sweetheart, he fell into a volcano's caldera, and then me and Sheva blew him up with RPGs."

"When has that ever stopped the T-Virus?" Piers asked sharply, a sick feeling now taking over his entire body. "Something could have survived. Maybe nothing survived, and Steve needs Jake to create him from scratch. I mean... Jake's the closest thing to Wesker genetically."

"Why would he want to? He wouldn't have to follow Wesker's rules."

"Maybe he needs that? Or maybe he wants to prove that he _can_. I don't know." Piers gnawed on his lip, a sudden cold sweat popping up on his back as he thought back to the things Steve had done to him. "But... what if?" What scared him the most about this seemingly impossible hypothesis wasn't his own safety. It was what this could mean for Chris.

Chris pursed his lips. "I don't know. We have to think about getting out of here." Looking at Piers, and thinking about not getting out of here with him caused a quick swell of panic that Chris had to swallow down. He stroked his hands down the lines of Piers's skinny waist, and touched a wet spot on the hip of Piers's pants. He pulled his hand back, his fingertips red with blood. There was a blossoming stain on the front of his hip. "You're bleeding."

"Huh?" Piers looked down and touched his hip, wincing. He was so sore all over that he hadn't even noticed the injury. He lifted the hem of the scrub. "Ugh. Looks like a glass shard."

"Lean back," Chris murmured, searching the tools they had for a pair of tweezers. Piers lifted his shirt to his stark ribs, and Chris pushed the waistband down to get better access. Only a little bit of glass was showing through the skin, but Chris could tell that it went much deeper, like an iceburg. "Hand me that towel. Once I pull it out, it will start really bleeding."

"Just a normal day for us, huh Captain?" Piers murmured, the wound now stinging because his attention was focused on it. Instead he focused on Chris kneeling between his legs, fingertips gently pressing near the edge of the wound, getting dangerously close to his pelvic bone. Piers banged his head against the wall as Chris pulled the shard of glass out. It felt like he'd taken out more than just a piece of glass, and he actually had to look down to see that muscle and bone weren't following it. Chris held the towel to the wound, pressing hard to try to help staunch the bleeding as he began to pull out the suture kit. Piers closed his eyes and winced as Chris began to sew him up, jerking as the needle pierced into his skin

"Stop squirming. My stitches are already not the best."

"It will be my favorite scar, then." Piers grinned wryly and then winced. His hip involuntarily jerked, and it caused Chris's hand to slip, and his knuckle to brush against the side of Piers's scrotum. It was such a brief touch, but it caused Piers to bite his lip as his cock kicked like a mule. He could tell that Chris noticed the touch, no matter how quick. Piers knew from all their sexual encounters that the other man was very penis-focused. It was his favorite body part, and knowing this, Piers jerked his hip again, forcing Chris's hand to slip and brush the side of his hardening cock. It came to full erection, the shape of it clearly visible through the thin material of the scrubs Piers had stolen. He jerked his hip one more time, harder, causing Chris's hand to slip over top of the bulge.

"We don't really have time for this..." Chris trailed off, his eyes not leaving Piers's groin. Logically he _knew_ that they had to find Claire and the others, but his body thought otherwise. The sutures were three quarters done and nearly forgotten as Chris's fingers instinctively traced the lines of the veins of Piers's cock, knowing them by memory. He then lowered the waistband of Piers's pants to expose him, also on instinct.

Piers closed his eyes, forgetting how to breathe as Chris's mouth enveloped him. It wasn't so long ago that he thought he'd never feel anything other than pain, so this pleasure was alien. It was almost akin to pain in that his body didn't know how to process the sensation. He felt like he was back under the water, Carla's facility blowing up all around him as the ocean crushed him and drowned him and separated him from Chris for what he'd thought was forever. His lungs burned the same as it had, his heart slammed against his ribcage the same as it had. His lungs burned like in the oxygen tank as Steve punched volt after volt into his body, filling with so much pain that it must have saturated the water.

And then Piers's body remembered to breathe. He searched for Chris's fingers with his own without having to think about it. Their fingers twined and met perfectly, like Chris was reaching through the water and bringing Piers back with him, not accepting his sacrifice. His body filled with familiar, long-missed warmth as Chris's tongue traced the lines of his erection, playing with the Jacob's Ladder piercing. He squeezed Chris's hand, knowing this was going to be fast. His body couldn't handle all this sudden pleasure. He couldn't fathom not only seeing Chris again, but feeling his touch, his nearness, his heartbeat. He came into Chris's mouth with an overwhelming rush that made his entire body hot and tingling. His eyes became especially hot as tears pushed at the back of them.

Chris licked up the underside of Piers's softening penis, getting the last threads of semen with his tongue. He rubbed his stubbled cheek against the side of it, eliciting a groan from Piers. He rested his forehead against Piers's right hip, which was still mostly unscarred save a few small tricklings. He didn't want to move, but he straightened his back and pulled Piers's pants up just enough to cover his genitals, getting up to wash his hands so he could finish the stitches.

"You okay?" Chris whispered as he began stitching up the wound again, seeing the glistening tears trapped just under Piers's closed eyelashes.

"I'll be better once we get the hell out of here, Captain," Piers said thickly, keeping his eyes closed. He didn't want to see this cramped little office overlooking that awful glass-filled body dump. He just wanted to feel his heart rate slowing back to normal. He wanted to hear Chris's breathing. "And I don't care how many tests the BSAA wants to put me through once we get back to the world... you know, to make sure I'm not contagious. I'm never letting anyone hold me prisoner again."

Chris sighed, biting his lips as he finished the stitches. The idea of getting Piers back and then losing him again was like a punch in the gut. "We should find Claire. Do you know anything about this place?"

Piers grunted as Chris swabbed the new stitches with iodine. "Well, I know a hell of a lot about the damned air ducts because of Stephanie."

"Who...? That creature?"

"Yeah. Even though she seems to be chasing me around and cut out my eye... I can't help but feel sorry for her, you know? I found her file. She was a doctor here, doing research into the various T-Virus strains before Steve came and took the place over. Anyone who didn't fall in line either got a quick bullet in the head, or wound up like Stephanie. I guess he must have _liked_ her, to spend so much time on her," he spat out.

"You think she's trying to find Steve?" Chris asked. "I mean... if she can remember anything, she'd probably want some sort of revenge. Maybe if we can hear her in the ducts, we could try to follow her. At a distance," Chris added at the dubious look on Piers's face.

"I already tried to check the blueprints, and Steve's lab's not on there, but I didn't get a chance to really look at the duct work or the electrical. If they just end in the middle of nowhere on the blueprint, that's where we go."

Chris began to check himself over for any heavily bleeding areas.

"I can do that for you," Piers flirted, hopping down from where he sat. The stitches stung a little as they pulled with his movement, but he was able to walk.

Chris gave a weary half-smile. "That would be really nice, but we've already wasted enough time."

"Okay then. But as soon as we're out of here, I am _soooooo _fucking you senseless."

He grinned, and it took a measure of restraint to not just ravish Piers right there and then. "Have you checked the security cams to see if you could find anyone?"

"I didn't know anyone was here, so I wasn't really looking, to be honest. I mean, I tried to find Steve and a way out of here, but there's a lot of blackouts and some damage in areas where infected have torn through. Some of the cameras are out of commission."

"We should find the others first. I don't know if these little things are going to work, if Steve really is that strong. We'll need the extra fire power."

"Jake will be with Steve," Piers said grimly. "You can count on that."

"Claire probably will be, too."

Piers sighed, moving the mouse to find the security camera feed again. "You don't think she'd... try to reason with him, do you? I mean, Claire always had a soft spot for him. Or at least the kid she'd left behind." Piers added "he's definitely not that kid anymore," in a sad whisper.

"I want to say no, but..." Chris trailed off. "She learns bad habits from me." Everyone had told him it was stupid to think that there was any good left in Albert Wesker, but it had been hard for Chris to believe. He wanted to think that there was something of the man he thought he'd known in there. With Steve, it was a little different, since his goodness hadn't been an act. But... it didn't change what he was _now._ And Chris feared the worst for his good-hearted sister. "We have to find her."

Chris pointed at a block of cameras as he leaned over Piers's shoulder. These ones all seem to be out..." he said as he looked at the numbers of the cameras. "You think that these zombies could take out that many cameras on their own?"

"They're not zombies," Piers murmured. "They're... Christ, we've seen so much shit, and I don't even know how to describe them. But they're definitely alive. They're pretty fast and mobile, but they seem more drawn by noise. I don't think cameras would really enter their realm of importance. You thinking Steve shut them off?"

"They've been gone for a while though. It could have been hours ago that the feed was lost." There were a lot of cameras, and movement in most of the frames that caught the eye, so it was a slow process to check all the feeds. Any quick motion caused both their gazes to move, in case it was the girls running through the frame.

"Here." Piers tapped the screen. Even with only one eye, he never missed details. "This room is dark, so you can't see much, but it looks like someone's on the computer."

Chris narrowed his eyes and looked at the grainy image. With the dim lights, you could only see the shape. "And these things can't use computers, right?"

"They're like LSD trippers. They're so fucked that they can't even really talk. One of them would have smashed the thing by now because it would have seemed possessed by ghosts or something." Piers pointed to the left of the frame. "There's light here, like there's a room or something beyond it." He focused on the image, waiting for the person to move so he could even get a glimpse of profile. They shifted, and he saw a flash of short blonde hair in the dim green light from the monitor. "It's Sherry."

"Where is this? Can we contact them via intercom or something?"

"Hang on, Captain."

"You're telling _me_ to be patient?" Chris asked wryly.

"Whatever. Okay, it looks like it's a floor above us..." Piers pulled up the blueprints and checked the labels for the rooms, which matched the stamps for each camera. "There's an elevator."

"Is it working? Stairs would be safer."

"No stairs. Looks like this part of the facility is completely cut off, except for that duct that you came down."

"If we found some rope..."

Piers shook his head. "Chris... neither of us are like we were before. We couldn't do a vertical climb that high, and we don't know if the girls are injured. I don't think my arm could hold out, and we both have the physiques of scarecrows right now. You fell like six stories, Chris. If it hadn't been for you banging the walls on your way down, you'd be a puddle right now."

"Okay... in the past Umbrella facilities, there's always been an escape elevator somewhere. It won't be on the plans, but Steve wouldn't take the same elevator as the grunts."

"That's my Captain." Piers stood and checked the magazine on the gun. "Any more?"

Chris picked up his damp shirt and went through the pockets. "Yeah, most of them are still here after the fall."

Piers took it and tied it around his waist. "Ready?"

"No, but that's never stopped BOWs before."

Piers reached up and stroked Chris's cheek and chin. He knew that Chris was a very gentle man by nature, and this constant violence ripped him apart. The toll was evident. He wanted more than anything for Chris not to have to live this life anymore. As he dropped his hand and went out into the hallway first, gun pointed to cover his Captain and lover, he internally swore that he would make sure that Chris would never have to hurt anyone again. Piers would make sure that Chris's brain would never have to force amnesia upon him because he couldn't handle what he was being asked to do. He would never have to become some angry stranger or sad wraith just to cope. He would give him safety and peace and happiness. And love. So much goddamn love.


End file.
